The Search
by Jay of Lasgalen
Summary: COMPLETE! Third Age, 1636. Elrohir leaves Imladris on what should be a simple errand - but he does not return. Chapter Nineteen - Four Is Company. Rest and recovery for Elladan and Elrohir, and news from Withypool.
1. The Messenger From Tarlong

**The Search**

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**Chapter One – The Messenger From Tarlong**

Legolas rode wearily across the high moors towards Imladris.  He had to concentrate on his route, for over the undulating ground, the steep path that led down to the hidden valley was very easy to miss.  Although he had never admitted it to Elladan or Elrohir – though he was sure they knew anyway - there had been occasions when he had lost the path, and had had to retrace his steps, adding almost a day to his journey.

This time, however, he found the path at the first attempt, and nudged his horse down the track.  It led steeply downward through trees, and far below he could glimpse the lights of Elrond's house, and hear the rush and murmur of the Bruinen.   He gave a slight smile of relief.  He had timed his arrival well.  By arriving now, just before dusk, there would be a warm welcome, a refreshing bath,  a meal in Elrond's hall, and a bed for the night.  If he had left it much later, there would have been the same warm welcome, but things would have been much more rushed.

As he descended further into the valley, his horse splashed through one of the many streams that meandered down towards the Bruinen.  He knew there were guards posted at the head of the valley and more along the trail; he could sense their presence, but he had presumably been recognised, as no one had challenged him yet. It was not until he crossed the bridge over the Bruinen that he finally saw a rider.

"Legolas! Welcome to Imladris."

Legolas peered at the speaker.  It was one of the twins, but as always after a time away from Imladris, he was unsure which one it was.  It always took him a day or two to get accustomed to them again.

He decided to take the safe option.  "Ellahir!   It is good to see you again.  It must be – what, five years?  How are you both?  And your mother and father?  And Arwen?"

"Arwen and my parents are both well, thank you.  Arwen is in Lothlórien at the moment, with our mother's family.  It is a pleasure to welcome you to Imladris again."

Ellahir did not sound particularly pleased.  On the contrary, he seemed distracted, and more than a little preoccupied.  His mind was clearly on other things.

"Ellahir?  Were you expecting someone else?  What is wrong?"

"Not Ellahir.  _Elladan.  I am Elladan."  Elladan sighed.  "My apologies, Legolas.   I did not mean to seem discourteous.  But you were right.  The messengers said a rider was approaching.  I thought it might be Elrohir, or at least a message from him."_

"Elrohir?  Why?  Where is he?"

Elladan sighed again, clearly worried.  "He left a week ago, a simple errand, we thought, to take medicines to a town two days away.  There is a fever there, and the mayor begged us for help.  El was going to take the medicines, show those who could how to use it, then return.  That was eight days ago.  He should have been back at the latest two days ago,  but we have heard nothing.  _Nothing_."

"Perhaps the fever was more serious than you thought.  Perhaps he had to stay to treat the people himself?"

"Yes.  Perhaps."  Elladan did not sound convinced.   "And it is true we have received several similar requests in the last few days.  This fever, whatever it is, seems to be more wide spread than we thought.  But anyway, Legolas, welcome to Imladris.  I will tell my father you have arrived, and I am sure we can find you a room somewhere!"  He smiled, but Legolas noticed that the smile did not reach his eyes.  He was still worried.

As they rode beneath the archway that led into the courtyard, Legolas continued:  "Elladan, I have never really understood the bond between the two of you.  But surely you would know if anything had -  happened - to him?  I remember when you fell out of that tree in Lasgalen, years ago.  When you broke your arm.  You were unconscious, but Elrohir could feel the pain."

"I remember.  And it is things like that that make me feel I _would_ know if anything was wrong.  But I feel very uneasy about something.  I just wish I knew what it was." 

Elladan put his concerns to one side as he showed Legolas to his room.  There was no need, as he tended to use the same room each time he visited Imladris.  But Legolas welcomed the courtesy, and somehow, already, hot water had been drawn to fill the sunken stone bath.

As soon as Elladan had gone, Legolas stripped off his travel stained clothes, and lowered himself into the bath.  He felt weary and grimy, and had not been able to wash since swimming in an icy mountain stream two days ago.  He relaxed in the soporific warmth, wondering idly what had become of Elrohir.  No doubt he would turn up, safe and well in the next day or so, wondering what all the fuss was about.  No doubt the delay was due to something minor, like a lame horse, or poor weather turning the roads to mud.

But later, as he dressed and prepared to join Elrond, Celebrían and Elladan, he remembered a report that had been submitted on the day he left Lasgalen.  There had not been time to read it properly, and he had just skimmed it. But the scouts had reported a sickness affecting many of the villages along the Celduin.  He wondered if the incidents were related.

In Elrond's feast hall, Legolas began to list all the things which could have contributed to Elrohir's delay, ranging from the weather, to marauding wolves, and from assignations with pretty girls to fleeing their irate fathers.  It worked.  Elladan seemed to forget his worries, laughing and joking with Legolas as he always had.  He told a complicated tale – at Elrohir's expense – involving two maidens, both of whom Elrohir had apparently asked to escort him at the last mid winter festival.  They had _not_ been best pleased when they found out about each other.

"But why, in all of Arda, did Elrohir ask them _both?  He usually manages his liaisons better than that!"  Legolas protested.  "He must be losing his touch!"  He was well aware of Elrohir's reputation.  He had always had a string of female admirers, and amazingly, always seemed to be able to keep on friendly terms with them all, long after a relationship was abandoned.   What was more, he had done it all without ever once crossing the boundaries of what all three parents termed 'proper behaviour'._

Elladan grinned.  "Well, in all honesty, it may not have been _Elrohir who asked them.  Not both of them, anyway."_

"What do you mean, it may not have been Elr -"  Legolas broke off with a gasp of laughter.  "Elladan!  How could you!  You pretended to be Elrohir, and asked them yourself!  You set him up!"  Legolas tried to sound disapproving, but was laughing too hard to be convincing.

"Oh, you should have seen him, when he realised they were both expecting him to escort them to the feast.  His face!"  Elladan paused, savouring the moment anew.  "For a moment, from the way they looked at one another, I thought there was going to be trouble, but then they decided that it was all his fault, and went off to the feast together, leaving El all on his own!"

"Poor Elrohir!   So he had no escort for the evening?  That must be most unusual for him!"

Elladan looked exasperated.  "Oh, no, he managed to find someone!  He asked a visitor from Lórien instead.  Legolas, I swear I do not know how he does it!  And then, the next morning, all four went out riding together, the very best of friends!"

Legolas gave another snort of laughter.  "That sounds typical of Elrohir.  Did he ever find out it was you?"

"Probably not.  He just seemed to think he had lost track for once.  I know he would have taken revenge if he had found out!"

"So, what is it worth not to tell Elrohir the truth when he gets back?  Elladan?"

But Elladan's attention was elsewhere, focused on a newcomer who had just arrived.  It was a man, windswept and dishevelled, who had clearly only just ridden in.   Escorted by a guard, he made his way around the edge of the hall to Elrond.

"Elladan?  Who is that?"

Without taking his eyes from the man, Elladan replied absently.  "The messenger who came from Tarlong.  The one who requested our help in the first place.  He may have a message from Elrohir.  Will you excuse me?"  Without waiting for Legolas' reply, he moved along the table to where Elrond had just taken a letter from the messenger.  

The man sounded most indignant.  "Lord Elrond, I have to tell you that the mayor was greatly saddened that you ignored our request.  Angered, too, as in the past we have done our part in aiding you by collecting some of the herbs and plants you say you need.  So I have come again, to beg you to reconsider.  My Lord, we need your help.  Some have already died from this fever – it will be more by now.  Will you _please_ aid us?"

"Arahad, what do you mean?" Elrond asked sharply.  "I sent the medicines you requested the day after you left, as I promised you we would do.  We did not ignore your plea!"

"No?  Well, no one came to our aid.  No one!  And my people are still dying!"  The man's fear and worry made him short tempered.

Elladan leaned closer to Arahad.  "You have my word that we did send help.  My brother left a week ago, with one of our apprentice healers.  If they have not arrived …"  He left the thought unfinished, but his abstract worry suddenly crystallised into a very real anxiety.

"We should not discuss this here.  Come to my study,"  Elrond told the man.  He, Elladan and Celebrían left the hall with Arahad.  Legolas, unashamedly eavesdropping, had overheard most of the conversation, and followed them.

They gathered around a large map that Elrond spread out on the table.  Tarlong was a small town on the banks of the Mitheithel, about two hundred miles south of Imladris.  Elrond traced a route with one finger.  

"Elrohir would have taken this road.  Did you see any sign of travellers on the way?  What about the villages you passed through?"

Arahad thought back along his journey.  "I  saw nothing.  I travelled around the villages – this fever has made folk nervous of strangers."

"It could be that the illness is more serious that we first thought.  We have had several requests for help already."

"It seems to be wide-spread, as well,"  Legolas added.  "Our scouts reported the same thing near Lasgalen, among the river villages."

"Could that be it, then?"  asked Arahad.  "They stopped off to help one of the other villages or towns first?"

The suggestion was certainly plausible, but Celebrían shook her head.  "No.  Elrohir would have honoured the commitment to your town first, even if he and Bereth had to split up to be able to help others.  And even if that had caused the delay, he would have sent a message."

"Then what could have happened?"  Elladan pondered.

"Speculation is pointless!  We will find out nothing like this."  Worry made Elrond unusually ill tempered.

"Then it is time to do something!  I will go and look for him.  For both of them.  I can leave tonight.  Legolas, do you wish to accompany me?"

Before Legolas could nod his agreement, Elrond stopped them both.  "No, not tonight. It will take time to prepare what you need. And I will give you more supplies, medicines – I think you will need them.  Go and rest now, both of you.  You can leave in the morning.  And thank you, Legolas, for agreeing."

"Surely you did not think I would refuse?  Elladan will need looking after, I am certain of it!"

After saying goodnight to Celebrían and Elrond, Legolas returned to his room, but found it difficult to sleep.  Instead, he pulled cushions from the bed and sat on the floor of the stone balcony, gazing up at the stars, and listening to the murmur of the trees.  The starlight and the soft voices of the trees helped him to think.  What was this fever?  How serious was it, how far spread?  Periodic sicknesses had always afflicted the lakeside communities, but he had the uneasy feeling that this was something more than that.  

And most importantly, what had happened to Elrohir?  While he had a reputation for enjoying life, he always took his duties seriously, and was very conscientious.   So if he had not reached Tarlong on Elrond's mission, where on Middle Earth was he?

**To be continued ….**


	2. Haccombe And Langwell

**Chapter Two – Haccombe and Langwell**

After only an hour or two's rest, Legolas returned to Elrond's study just before dawn.  He was unfamiliar with the territory they would be covering, and wanted to study the map again to hold a clear picture in his mind.  He found Elladan already there - it was clear he had not slept at all.

"Have you been here all night?"

Elladan looked up, surprised.  "Yes, I must have.  Is it dawn already?  We should leave soon."

"Well, first I want to look at that map again.  What can you tell me about this place?"

The town they were heading for lay at the confluence of two rivers, the Bruinen and the Mitheithel, and seemed a sizable settlement.  The map maker had drawn a sketch of Tarlong, showing stone walls surrounding the town, and fields outside the walls, flanking the banks of the rivers.

"They are farmers, I take it?  The land there would be good for growing crops,"  Legolas commented to Elladan.

"Yes, and traders.    There are several small communities along the river down towards Lond Daer, but some of the towns were once far larger.  They trade their crops and cattle for horses, and wine, and wood from Tharbad."

"Do they use rafts along the river?"  Legolas was thinking about the trade the wood-elves did with the people of Esgaroth, and along the Celduin.

"Sometimes, but only on the lower stretches.  Above Tharbad the river is too swift and rocky, with too many rapids.  But there are paths, quite good roads, which we can use instead, if we have to go that far."

Elrond joined them then.  He had been working through the night, preparing and packing the medicines he thought they would need.  "Elladan can tell you what you need to know about how to use these, Legolas.  There are infusions and febrifuges to reduce high temperature, _peles_ leaves to bring sleep and ease pain.  Many fevers are accompanied by severe headaches. There are several remedies for other symptoms you may encounter.  I wish I knew more about this illness, what to expect!"

"I think you are about to find out, my love,"  Celebrían came into the room behind them.  "Arahad has fallen ill.  I assume he has the fever too.  He told me last night he was one of the few from his town who was unaffected."

"Then the sooner we leave, the sooner we can get there," announced Elladan.  "Legolas, are you ready?"

In the courtyard, grooms brought their horses, already loaded with Elrond's medicines and the provisions they would need.  Celebrían looked up at Elladan, and clasped his hand in both of hers.  "Be careful, both of you.  And Elladan, please bring Elrohir home."

He leaned down and kissed her.  "Goodbye, mother.  We will find him, I promise!"

With  a wave, and a clatter of hooves on the flagstones, Elladan and Legolas rode out through the archway, turning to the south along the Bruinen.  Dawn was breaking, and a cold grey light grew all around them.  Pink fingers of cloud streaked across the sky as the sun rose beyond the Misty Mountains.  The air was loud with birdsong, and it was clearly going to be a glorious day.  On any other occasion Legolas would have enjoyed the journey.

As they rode towards the ford, Legolas remembered something that had occurred to him the previous night.  "Elladan, if my history lessons with Lanatus were correct, your father is only half elven.  Is that right?"

"Yes, and both his parents were too.  Eärendil and Elwing.  When you add Melian, who was our…"  - he counted on his fingers - "great, great, great grandmother, it makes us a very strange mixture!  But I thought you knew that?"

"I do know, but I tended not to listen to Lanatus a lot of the time.  I forget that you have some human blood.  But I was wondering, if Elrohir is working among people who are suffering from this illness, could it affect him, too?  Would it make him more vulnerable?"

Elladan look appalled.  "I never thought about that!  It never seems to have made any difference to us before – but this illness sounds like it is much more contagious than most I have seen.   Do you think El could have fallen victim to the fever?  Legolas, people are _dying_ from it!"

Legolas felt rather guilty.  He had been thinking out loud, and had certainly not meant to worry Elladan even more, or to panic him like this.  "I doubt it,"  he said reassuringly.  "As you said, it has never made any difference to any of you before.  And your father would never have sent him if he thought there was even a remote risk, would he?"

"No.  No, of course not!"  Elladan was silent for a while, clearly thinking about it.  "I hope you are right, Legolas.  I think this is something my father had not thought about either."  He turned away, and Legolas heard him mutter under his breath, "El, where are you?"

Once they had passed the guards and crossed the ford, they saw no one else that day.  There were no human villages this close to Imladris, and this was not one of the routes that travellers used.  As they rode further south, the land changed.  The wooded valley bordering Imladris gradually gave way to shallower land, and they came across sudden waterfalls, which would make navigating along the river impossible.

As dusk fell, they made camp on the banks of the river.  While Elladan lit a small fire and tended to their horses, Legolas hunted rabbits for their supper.  He shot two, nibbling in the grass in the last light of day, then skinned and gutted them with his knife.  After stuffing them with aromatic cresses he found growing by the waterside, he roasted the rabbits over the fire.  By the time Elladan returned to the fire, the rabbits were nearly ready.  He threw a round, cloth-wrapped bundle to Legolas.  

"Here.  Mother gave me this as we left.  It was still hot." 

It was a loaf, freshly baked that morning.  With the bread, the rabbits, and cool, fresh water from the river, their meal tasted nearly as good as Elrond's feast the night before.  By the time they finished, the fire had died down.  

Legolas looked at the sky.  It was dark now, but a half-moon shone down, reflecting off the river.  "Elladan?  I can take first watch, while you get some sleep.  I will wake you later."  

After washing in the river, Elladan dutifully wrapped himself in his cloak, and lay down.  Once again, he found it impossible to sleep, his mind full of images and wonderings.  He felt sure he would know if Elrohir was in any danger, hurt, or ill, but this not-knowing was hard.  He had no idea where his brother was, what he was doing, or why he was delayed.  He knew nothing, apart from an insubstantial fear that _something was very wrong, and that Elrohir was greatly troubled by something. _

Elladan stifled a sigh, and resisted the temptation to turn over again, knowing that Legolas would be watching him.  His mind drifted to Elrohir again.  They teased one another unmercifully, bickered constantly, and had occasional furious arguments.  Despite that, they were fiercely loyal to each other, and woe betide anyone who ever tried to come between them.  He knew Elrohir as well as he knew himself, knew his fears, hopes and dreams, knew what he was afraid of, what had made him cry as a child, and knew what made him laugh.  They had exchanged secrets they had never told another living soul.  They were like two sides of the same coin, different, but intimately joined together, inseparable.  They had never been apart for more than a few days in all their lives.  If anything _had happened to Elrohir …  he could not imagine life without his twin.  Restlessly, he turned again, not ready to consider that possibility._

In the still of the night, his fears painted vivid, terrifying, mental images.  He saw Elrohir lying dead at the side of the road, senselessly attacked by some suspicious villager, who feared elves, or disease-carrying strangers.  He saw his brother deathly ill, flushed and delirious with fever, wracked with pain, his hair damp with sweat, mindlessly calling out one name, again and again.  He saw Elrohir lying motionless, his eyes closed, looking pale and gaunt, on a ragged mattress flung down in the corner of some unfamiliar room.  Elladan shook his head, trying to clear the horrifying pictures his imagination created, and sighed again.  "El, where _are you?" he whispered.   _

Legolas sat cross-legged, by the still warm embers of their fire, listening to the sounds of the night.  He could hear the rush of the river, the hoot of an owl, and the soft movements and noises of their horses.  On the far side of the fire's ashes, he could see Elladan, wrapped in his cloak.  He was open eyed, but Legolas knew he was not sleeping.  He tossed and turned uneasily, until Legolas could stand it no more.

"Elladan!  If you are not going to sleep, you may as well take the watch!"  He waited until Elladan sat up.  "When did you last sleep?  I know last night you were awake.  What about the night before?  Or the night before that?  When was it you realised Elrohir was missing?  Elladan, you must get some rest!  If - _when_ - we find him, he may need help.  You will not be any use to him if you have not slept for days!"  He broke off as Elladan gave him a wry grin.

"Yes, mother!  You sound just like her, you know."

Legolas smiled sheepishly.  "Sorry.  Actually, I sound like my father.  I swear I could hear him just then!"  he admitted.   He held one hand over the ashes of the fire experimentally, and tested a pot of water that had been placed in the embers.  "I think this is still hot enough for a drink.  Do you want some tea?"

Elladan nodded.  "Thank you."  

Legolas felt in one of the bags, and extracted two cups and a bag containing dried leaves, berries and fruit.  He placed a good pinch in each cup, added hot water, and swirled the mixture round.  He also took a _peles_ leaf from the bag, and crumbled it into one of the cups while Elladan was not looking.  When the brew was ready, he passed one cup to Elladan, making sure it was the right one.

"Do you want me to take the watch now?"  Elladan asked him.

"No.  It is still my turn.  I told you, I can wake you later.  Are you going to sleep this time?"

"I can try."

Elladan lay down again, trying to will himself to rest.  The tea seemed to have helped, and he found himself finally beginning to relax, his thoughts drifting aimlessly.  Before long he slid into a dreamless sleep, free from worry for the first time in days.

Legolas resumed his watch, focusing on his own fears.  He, too, was concerned about Elrohir, and had never seen Elladan so agitated before.  He was clearly even more worried about his twin than he had admitted to Legolas.  The news that the messenger from Tarlong had brought, that Elrohir had never even arrived, had not helped.  He just hoped that the next day they would reach the first villages and find some news, some trace of Elrohir or Bereth.

At daybreak he woke Elladan.  It looked to be another fine day, and with luck they would come to the first of the villages on the Bruinen in a few hours. Elladan woke and stretched, blinking as his eyes cleared.  

"Legolas?  Did you keep awake all night?  I told you to wake me for my turn!"

"Never mind.  I decided you needed the rest more than I did.  It can be your turn tonight, or the night after."

They breakfasted on cold rabbit and stale bread, but were ready to leave by the time the sun rose over the tree tops.

The land grew more and more cultivated as they travelled south-west, and they soon came to the outlying fields of a tiny village.  "This is Haccombe,"  Elladan explained.  "A small place, just an outpost really."

"It seems very quiet now,"  Legolas observed.  "Where is everyone?  I would expect to see people working in the fields, this close to harvest."

As they drew closer to the village, there was still no sign of life.  No smoke rose from the chimneys, but they could hear a dog barking incessantly somewhere.  By mutual consent, they stopped their horses just outside the village.  "Something is wrong," said Elladan unnecessarily. 

"Yes,"  Legolas agreed.  "It seems quiet, too quiet."   

They dismounted, asking the horses to wait for their return.  Then, very cautiously, they made their way into the village.  There were only a handful of houses here.  Elladan approached the nearest, calling a greeting, then pushing the door open.  He stopped dead in the entrance.  Somewhere behind him, he heard Legolas give a  strangled gasp as he investigated another dwelling.  In the single room of the house, there had lived a small family:  mother, father, two children.  All were dead, the mother still cradling the smallest child in her arms.

Elladan backed away from the stench of death, retreating to the central square of the village.  Legolas was already there, looking equally horrified.  "Everyone is dead," he explained numbly.

"I know.  But we must look everywhere, just in case."

Legolas shot him a very sceptical look.  "You think we will find survivors?"

"No.  Not really."  They resumed their grisly search.  The only sign of life was a dog, barking shrilly, which Legolas found in a shed behind one of the houses.  Searching the hut, he also found a little meat, still unspoiled, which he threw to the animal.  It ate ravenously.

Finally, they returned to the square.  Everyone in the village was dead, and had been for at least a day.  There was nothing more they could do here – not even bury the dead.  The ground was hard and stony, and digging would take time they did not have.

"We will stop at the next village, and ask that they send someone back here to tend to the dead,"  said Elladan at last.  "There is nothing more we can do."

Silently, they returned to their horses, shaken by the reality of the fever, and continued to the next village, Langwell, which was only a matter of a few miles away.  It was a larger settlement, but there was still little sign of life.  The fields were deserted, and animals roamed unattended.  Legolas and Elladan exchanged uneasy glances.  Were they to find the same scene of sickness and death everywhere?

"Look, there,"   Legolas pointed.  "Smoke from the chimneys.  There must be someone still alive."  

The village was surrounded by a tall stockade, which had the look of a very hastily built construction.  They both dismounted again, then Elladan turned to Legolas.  "Will you stay here?"  he asked.  "I do not like the feel of this place, somehow.  Let me see if I can find anyone."

Legolas merely nodded, waiting with the two horses.  He relieved some of his anxiety by murmuring to them reassuringly, and watched Elladan's progress carefully.

There was a heavily barricaded gate in the stockade, which Elladan approached.  He stopped a short distance away and studied the whole area.

"Greetings!"  he called in Westron.  "Is there anyone there?  I seek news, nothing more."

There was no response, but he _knew that someone had heard him.  He glanced back at Legolas, who shrugged.  He was about to call again, when there was a slight noise from the top of the gate._

Elladan turned back to the gate, then froze.  A guard stood at the top of the fence, a crossbow held in hands which shook.  It was loaded, and pointing straight at Elladan.

**To be continued …**


	3. Dacy

**Chapter Three –  Dacy**

Elladan stood completely still, his hands held in clear view by his sides.  He wanted to show he was no threat, but the guard could obviously see his sword, and the bow across his back.  Behind him, Elladan heard a faint swish of air.  He knew Legolas would have drawn his bow, and would have an arrow trained on the guard.

Elladan did not take his eyes off the sentry.  He was unfamiliar with crossbows as weapons, and was not sure how much warning he would have if the guard decided to fire.  He sensed no real threat from the man, but bearing in mind how nervous he seemed to be, it would be small comfort if he was shot by accident.  Before he could speak again, the guard called down to him.

"Don't come no closer!  Keep away!  I don't want to have to shoot you!"

"I ask for news, and maybe help for your neighbours," Elladan called back.  "I will not come any nearer, have no fear."

The guard looked down behind the fence, and whispered to someone else.  "It's that elf, the one who came last week!  What's he want again?"  Then he straightened again, and a second sentry joined him.  "Look, like we said to you last time, we don't want you here.  Go away!  There's a fever in these parts, a bad fever, and we're not letting anyone in!  Don't you understand?"

"I do not wish to come in!  I -"  the guard's words suddenly sank in.  "What do you mean, you said last time?  Who came last week?"

The two sentries looked at each other.  "Bloody stupid elf!"  one muttered.  "Is he thick or something?"

"Maybe he can't understand our speech."  The second guard sounded thoughtful.  "They speak different to us, don't they?"

Elladan altered his stance slightly.  Now, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Legolas,  _two arrows drawn and aimed at the men.  He was listening intently._

"We-said-last-time,"  the guard spoke very slowly and clearly. "Go-away-you-can't-come-in.  We-told-you-that."

"It must have been my brother you spoke to before!"  Elladan spoke urgently.  "When was he here?  Can you remember?  What did he say?"

"Your brother?  You sure?  He looked just like you!"  The guard sounded very doubtful.

Elladan clung to his patience with great difficulty.  "We are twins,"  he said shortly.  "Please, what can you tell me of him?"

Something in Elladan's desperate tone finally penetrated the men's own fear of the two strangers.  Slowly, the first guard lowered his crossbow.

"It were just over a week ago.  Nine days, I think, the night of the storm.  There was two of them.  One of them – your brother – asked for shelter for the night.  It was raining cats an' dogs, and blowin' up real strong.  He said they were travelling to Tarlong, to take some medicines there.  We knew there was fever there, so we told them they couldn't come in.  We felt real bad, turning anyone anyway on a night like that, but we had to!"

"I see.  And then what?"

The guard shrugged.  "They left.  Rode on down the track; to the next village, I suppose.  Why?  Is something wrong?"

"I hope not," murmured Elladan, almost to himself.  "Have you seen any other travellers?"

"No.  No-one.  An' that's strange, because usually the folk from Haccombe, up the river aways, come down for supplies about once a week.  We ain't seen them."

"We have just come from there,"  Legolas called.  He had approached the gate, and stood beside Elladan.  The arrows were back in their quiver, and his bow was held loosely in one hand.   "I fear we have bad news.  The villagers – they were all dead.  I am sorry.  There was nothing we could do for them."

"We do not know your burial rites or customs,"  Elladan told the guard.  "So we left them there.  We hoped someone from your village would tend to the dead."

The guard looked incredulous.  "What – they're dead?  All of them?  Even the kiddies?"

"The children as well,"  Legolas confirmed.  "I am sorry."

The guard suddenly raised the crossbow again, and tightened his grip on it.  "It was the plague that did for them?  And you've just come from there?"  His voice grew harsh.  "Then go.  Go now.  We don't want you here, and we don't want your germs.  _Go."  The atmosphere had changed very rapidly.  The guard's fears had intensified, and he seemed far more ready to shoot._

Legolas' hands twitched, as he fought against his instinctive reactions.   It was difficult to resist the compulsion to draw his bow, although he knew that such an action would only compound this confrontation.  The guard was so fearful, so nervous, that any sudden movement by either elf would only goad him into firing.  And despite everything, Legolas still had no wish to kill the guard.  He was clearly terrified, defending his village in the only way he knew.  The words of his first archery teacher echoed inside his head, in a never-forgotten warning.  "Never_ draw either bow or arrow unless you are prepared to kill your target if you have to.  If your enemy senses any hesitation, any reluctance, it could prove fatal, for you-  or for your companions."_

"_Go," the man repeated grimly._

They went.  They would never sway the guard's judgement, and had no time in which to try.  It would not help either Elrohir or Bereth if they fell here, victims of primitive fears and prejudices.  

Elladan and Legolas walked slowly away from the gate, backwards, never taking their eyes from the sentries.  Neither was willing to turn their backs on the men until they reached the horses.  Then they mounted, and rode swiftly away along the riverside trail, leaving the fenced village behind them.

"Well, at least we learned one thing,"  Legolas said, finally breaking the silence.  "Both Elrohir and Bereth were there nine days ago.  And they still intended to go on to Tarlong.  Perhaps we will find more news at the next village."

"Perhaps."  Elladan sounded troubled.  "If the guard was telling the truth.  If he really did send El on his way.  If he did not shoot them down as they approached, on the remote chance that they carried the fever!  They would not be expecting an attack like that, would stand no chance against a crossbow!  They could both have been lying in a ditch only yards away for all we know!"

"Elladan.  _Elladan!"  Legolas stopped his horse, and seized Balan's mane, forcing Elladan to stop as well.  "Elladan, stop this.  You have no reason to think that.  I sensed no evil from those men.  Yes, they were frightened.  But I believe the guard told us the truth.  His remorse was genuine when he spoke of sending them off into the storm.  And if he _had_ harmed Elrohir or Bereth, he would have killed us too, especially when he recognised you."  He spoke softly, reassuringly, trying to penetrate Elladan's fear._

Elladan closed his eyes, and drew a deep, shuddering breath.  "I know.  I know.  You are right, Legolas.  I am sorry.  I just – I just wish I knew where they are."

"Yes.  So do I."

"There is something else.  I did not tell my parents about this, they were already concerned.  Since the day El left I have been having dreams.  Nightmares.  Visions, I suppose.  I see Elrohir dead, or dying, from fear and prejudice like that, from the fever, attacked by outlaws, struck by lightning, struggling and drowning in flood waters.  That guard – he spoke of a storm on the night El arrived."  Elladan's eyes were dark and haunted.

Legolas paused.  He had not known of this, but it was not altogether surprising.  "Such dreams are common, especially at times like this.  I remember – I remember when my mother died.  My greatest fear then was that something would happen to my father as well.  For many months afterwards, I dreamed of him, of his death, that he simply went away, that he rejected me.  The dreams were so real that at one time I truly believed he no longer loved me."   He could still vividly recall the terrible anguish of those days, even after so long.   "It was utter nonsense, of course!  Your father was very supportive to us both at that time.  I was very young, but I have never forgotten his kindness."  He smiled, reminiscing, and then another thought struck him.  "And besides, if the guard had harmed Elrohir, I think he would have been more than a little surprised when _you turned up at his gate a week later!"_

Elladan smiled at that.  "Yes.  You are right, of course.  I was not thinking."

"Of course not.  You are a 'bloody stupid elf', after all!  But Elladan, my point is that you are bound to have such vivid dreams when you are so worried."

"You think it is all in my imagination, then?"

Legolas hesitated. He did not wish to belittle his friend's very real fears.  And yet … "Yes," he said simply.

"I hope you _are_ right.  But Legolas, these dreams, or visions, could be more than just vague fears on my part.  I think they could be connected to my Grandmother's foresight."

Legolas had always been a little in awe of the Lady of Lothlorien. "You have the Lady Galadriel's gift of sight?  You think the dreams are true?"

"Some of them.  In part.  But it is no gift, it is a curse!  I cannot tell what may already have occurred, what may lie in the future, what may _never happen.  But I fear that some of what I have seen will be true, somewhere, at some time."  Elladan sighed.   "And I have no way of knowing what."_

They rode on for the rest of that afternoon, again without seeing any travellers.  The land was very quiet.  Towards evening, they came to the last village before Tarlong.  The river here was wide and deep, and flowed languidly past the village and the reed beds after which it was named.  Withypool traded in the reeds, which were used in thatching, or woven into baskets.  As they neared the village, they fell into the now familiar routine, dismounting, and approaching cautiously on foot.  

A low fence surrounded the place, very different from the high stockade at Langwell.  A gate in the fence stood open, and children could be seen playing just inside, under the watchful eye of an obviously pregnant woman.  As Legolas and Elladan drew nearer, one or two villagers who were rounding up hens and ducks for the night watched them curiously.

Suddenly a young girl, very pretty, broke away from the rest and raced down the path from the gate.  She flung her arms around Elladan excitedly, and kissed him soundly.  "Elrohir!  You came back!  I knew you would!"  she squealed with delight.

Elladan gazed down at the girl in amazement, and looked at Legolas, feeling rather bemused.  Legolas was grinning broadly at his discomfiture.  "She seems a little young for him, I would think!"  he observed.  The child could not have been more than five years old.  

Sensing Elladan's hesitance, she drew away a little, and looked up at him, puzzled.   "Elrohir?"  she asked doubtfully.

Elladan dropped to one knee in front of her, ignoring Legolas' amusement.  "No.  Elrohir is my brother.  My name is Elladan."  He smiled at the little girl reassuringly.  "Is he a friend of yours?"

She nodded, her eyes wide.  As she looked at him shyly, one hand rose to her face, and a thumb slipped into her mouth.  The woman who had been watching the children called to her, and the girl turned to face her.  "Dacy!  Who's that you're talking to?  What have I told you about strangers – oh!  Tis you again, sir!  I'm right glad to see you again."  Dusting her hands against her skirt, the woman walked down the track to retrieve the little girl, who ran to her side, clutching her hand.

"It's not him, Mama!  It's not!"  

"Who's not?  What do you mean, child?"

"Tisn't Elrohir!  It's his brother!"

Startled, the woman looked more closely.  "Oh … your pardon, sir.  We thought …"

Elladan smiled at the woman.  "It tends to be a common mistake, I fear."

"Well, none the less, you are very welcome here."  She glanced at Legolas.  "Both of you.  Now, will you take shelter with us for the night?  'Twill soon be dark, and I don't like the look of them there clouds.  I fear 'tis going to rain again – and after the floods we had last week, too!  Will you join us?"

Elladan wondered, for the thousandth time, how Elrohir did it.  He had a talent for charming females of all ages – and races.  "You are most kind, my lady.  But we cannot …"

"It will be no trouble!" Dacy's mother told him firmly.  "I'll understand if you say you've to be somewhere else this night, but if not, we'd be honoured if you'd join us.  After what your brother did for Dacy here, it's the very least we can do!"

Elladan glanced again at Legolas.  There seemed to be an intriguing tale here, and he was most curious to hear it.  At Legolas' nod, Elladan turned back to the woman.  "Then we accept very gratefully.  Thank you."

"Good!  Then that's settled.  Dacy, run along now and tell your dada we've two guests, there's a good girl."

As Dacy raced back into the village, the two elves followed her mother, rather more slowly, somewhat surprised at the abrupt change to their plans for the evening.

**To be continued**


	4. Of Herbs And Stewed Rabbit

**Chapter Four – Of Herbs And Stewed Rabbit**

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Marla, Dacy's mother, took Elladan and Legolas to her house. It was a small dwelling near the centre of the village, and consisted of just two rooms – a main living area, and a smaller room for sleeping.  They both had to duck their heads to avoid the low lintel over the only door.  A small cooking fire burned in the hearth, and over it hung a pot, simmering fragrantly.

Marla turned to them, a little apologetic.  "It's only vegetable stew, but there's plenty of it!  And good, clean water to drink, from the well.  Are you thirsty, sirs, would you like a drink?"

They both drank gratefully.  Their own water had been carried all day, and was now both warm and tasteless.  Elladan went back outside to the horses, and from a bag took a pair of rabbits that had been intended for their supper when they finally halted.  "Allow us to contribute this, mistress Marla.  Will they go with your stew?"  He gave her the rabbits, and a flat loaf of lembas.  

"Thank you sirs!  A brace of coneys!  It will be a feast!"  She swiftly prepared the rabbits, and added them to the stew pot, together with an extra bunch of herbs.  "There!  Now, while we wait, will you sit?"  She indicated a pair of chairs which stood next to the table.

"Maybe later.  First, we must tend to our horses."

Back outside, Legolas and Elladan took Balan and Laurël to the water trough, then fed them a few handfuls of grain before allowing them to graze.  Dacy followed them closely at first, but soon, seeing them engaged in such mundane tasks, she lost interest and returned to her mother.  When the little girl was safely out of earshot, Legolas turned to Elladan.  "It would seem that your brother's charm has worked again.  And at least we have the benefit for once!"

"Yes.  How does he do it?  Legolas, I swear that if Elrohir ever encounters an _orc_, it will be female, and he will have it eating out of his hand in moments!"

Legolas was silent for a moment, considering the bizarre image this conjured, then shuddered.  "Now that is a truly repulsive thought!  But I have no doubts you are right."  He glanced at the sky beyond Elladan.  The setting sun glowed an angry red before disappearing behind a bank of dark clouds massing in the west.   The air had the smell of more rain to come, heavy rain.  "But at least we will be out of the rain and sheltered tonight.  And we can put the horses in there."   He pointed to a lean-to shelter set in the angle between Marla's house and that next door.

Back inside, Marla introduced them to Teague, Dacy's father.  Finally on first name terms, they dined on vegetable and rabbit stew, while outside the sky darkened and rain fell in torrents.

"So tell me,"  Elladan requested.  "How did you come to meet my brother?  What did he do?"

"It was just over a week ago.  The river was in a terrible state, we'd had days and days of rain, and a storm only the night before.  I'd rarely seen it so high or flowing so fast!   But Dacy here, she slipped away to look while my back was turned, and the next thing I knew, she was down playing by the river, for all I'd warned her how dangerous it was.  Silly, disobedient child!"  Marla chided Dacy gently.

"Then, when I called to her to  come straight back, she jumped up – and slipped.  She fell right into the water, gave just one scream, and was swept away before you could blink!  Oh, it was awful, I thought she was gone for sure!"  She shivered at the memory, drawing Dacy closer to her side.

"So what happened then?" prompted Legolas.  He had a feeling he could guess.

"Out of nowhere it seemed, someone I'd never seen before suddenly flew past me, and dived into the river.  He swam after Dacy, and managed to reach her, but already they'd both been swept a fair ways downstream.  There was another one there, Bereth, we found out his name was after, and he was shouting at your brother, saying he was foolish and to come back, and that it was too dangerous."

Teague took up the tale.  "It was too late by then, he couldn't have come back even if he'd wanted, the current was that strong!  Anyways, Elrohir just waved, then pointed to the bank further along.  I could tell he was planning to let the current carry them down, and swim to the side.  But what he didn't know, _couldn't_ have known, was that the current there sweeps out into the middle of the river, away from the bank.  They'd be carried clear down to Tharbad!  I thought we'd lost them both, I really did."

"So anyway, the next thing is, Bereth picks up the bow that Elrohir had dropped, and an arrow, and he tried a rope onto it, and fired it down the river to where your brother and my Dacy were."

Elladan interrupted at this point.  "Wait a moment.  _Bereth_ fired the arrow?  Are you sure?"  he sounded disbelieving.

Teague nodded.  "Course I'm sure!  _I wouldn't have known how to use it, that's for sure!  Anyhow, he fired the arrow and the rope, and it landed right next to Elrohir, so he could grab a hold of it, and then we all hauled 'em back up.  It was a long, hard task, too, let me tell you!  The river was in spate, and the current was something fierce!  And all the time, your brother had hold of Dacy in one arm, and the rope in the other hand.  When they got back, he handed Dacy up to me, an' I passed her to her mother, and the rest of us pulled __him out."_

"So you'll see why we are so grateful to him, and why we're so pleased you agreed to stay with us tonight," added Marla.  She listened to the rain drumming on the thatched roof of the little house.  "And with this rain, I would think the river could well flood again.  Will you stay with us, until it goes down?  It may be a few days, I fear."

Elladan shook his head.  "We cannot delay, I am afraid.  I thank you for your hospitality, but we have to continue tomorrow.  We are heading for Tarlong."  He glanced down at Dacy, now asleep on her mother's lap. "I did not say so in front of your daughter, but El – Elrohir - never reached there.  We are trying to find them both."

"He never reached there?  Nor Bereth?  But they left first thing the next morning, and 'tis only a matter of a couple of hours ride!  What could of happened, do you think?"

"I have no idea what could have happened.  But I fear something evil befell them both."

"Well, I warned 'em both, the path would be very dangerous after all that rain.  It could've been washed away completely, or they could've had to go across the marshland.  But if they never got as far as Tarlong … I wouldn't like to say what could of befallen 'em, that I wouldn't!"

The little household settled for the night not long after.  Legolas and Elladan were left in the small living area, next to the banked fire.  Outside, the rain still poured down unceasingly.  They could hear it pounding on the roof, and in the distance the roaring sound of the river grew louder and louder.

As they left early the next morning, Marla emerged from the house with a small bundle.  "I always make this for Teague, when he's out cutting the reeds.  I did two extra for you today."  She stood beside Balan, and looked up at Elladan, in a gesture strangely reminiscent of Celebrían's.  "I hope you find your brother.  And I hope you will stop by soon, and let us know what happened.  I'll not say anything to Dacy for now, but – well, I hope he can come back and see her again, that's all.  Farewell.  Gods bless ye both."

As Marla had warned them, the path between Withypool and Tarlong proved very difficult to navigate.  Floodwaters had partially destroyed the track, and it was knee deep in mud and debris.  Elladan and Legolas had to pick their way along the trail very carefully, often leading the horses across particularly treacherous parts.  As they went, they both searched carefully for any sign of Elrohir or Bereth.  What had happened since they left Withypool?

As Legolas saw it, there were three possibilities.  Firstly, Arahad was mistaken, or lying, and the two had been safely in Tarlong the whole time.  But how could Arahad have made such an error?  His indignation in Elrond's hall had been very real.  Alternatively, the folk at Withypool were mistaken or lying, and Elrohir had either never been there, or had never left.  That seemed so unlikely as to be unworthy of consideration.  The third possibility was that they had met some misfortune on the road since leaving Withypool.  Privately, he feared that that was the most likely alternative.  In places, the floodwater had washed away the track completely, leaving the river merging directly with the marshland.  Elladan and Legolas had to negotiate the path with great care.  

By midday, they reached a stretch of the river that flowed directly below the path.  There was a drop of some six inches into the swiftly rushing water.  Legolas picked his way cautiously along the track.  The river had undercut the bank here, and the footing was treacherous.  Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet gave way as the river bank collapsed, and he slipped.  Unable to gain any grip in the slick mud, his feet plunged into the water.  He made a wild grab at Laurël's  mane, but the shifting ground had made the horse skittish, and he shied away.  

With a curse, Elladan leaped forward.  He seized Legolas by the wrist as he fell, and hauled him to safety.  Legolas sat on the bank, at a safer distance from the water, and swore steadily – in pure Quenya.  To Elladan, it seemed a surprising choice of language – personally, he had always found Dwarvish more satisfying.  The outburst relieved some of Legolas's frustration, however.  At last, he looked up at Elladan.  "Thank you," he said, in more moderate tones.  He glanced along the bank, both up and downstream.  "This is ridiculous!  It has taken us hours, and we are scarcely any further forward!"

The village of Withypool, which they had left that morning, was still just visible in the distance.  "Well, we should continue as quickly as possible," Elladan pointed out.  "And you should take a little more care, my friend – this is not the place for a swim!"  His spirits had lightened somewhat since the encounter with Dacy and her family.  He was reassured by the story they had recounted; it had gone a long way to explaining what he had seen when he had imagined Elrohir struggling in the flooded river.  On the other hand, however, it confirmed that at least some of what he had seen _was true.  He wondered, a little uneasily, what else may come to pass in reality._

It took them nearly a day to cover a distance that could not have been more than five miles.  Finally, late that afternoon, the track grew drier, and progress was easier.  They finally reached Tarlong shortly before dusk.  Both were mud splattered and weary.  

It was nearly dark by the time they approached the gates to the town.  They still stood open, but as they drew nearer, a guard emerged to close and bolt them for the night.  He stopped, and peered down the track cautiously as Legolas hailed him.

"Who goes there?" he called suspiciously.

"Greetings,"  replied Elladan.  "We are travellers.  Healers from Imladris.  We received a request for help from your mayor, and have come to offer you our aid.  May we enter?"

"Approach, strangers."  The man sounded wary, but friendly enough.  He stood back to allow them to pass, watching both elves curiously.  "You come to help, you say?  You took your time!  Our messenger first left nearly two weeks ago.  When no-one came, he went again to plead with Lord Elrond."

"I know.  I seek news as well.  Have you seen any other strangers recently?  We did send aid before, when we received your first messenger, but Arahad said no-one arrived."

A second guard stepped from the shadows cast by the gate.  The two exchanged a cautious glance, then the first replied carefully: "We may have seen someone.  If you'd like to come this way, I can take you to our mayor.  He can give you more news, perhaps.  This way."  He pointed along the one main street in the little town, and led the way.  "So, is he a friend of yours then, the one you're looking for?"

"My brother,"  replied Elladan.   

"I see," muttered the guard.  He said nothing more as he led them along the street, past shuttered houses and dark alleys.  At the end of the street, more or less in the centre of the town, there was a large building, more imposing than the other dwellings, and with the windows lamp-lit.  "In here."

He knocked at the door, waited for an acknowledgement, then pushed it open, motioning for Elladan and Legolas to precede him.   The door opened directly into a long room, which looked like it ran the width of the house.  At the far end a man sat behind a desk littered with papers.  He was not studying any of the documents; instead he seemed deep in thought, his head in his hands.

"Wait here please," requested their escort.   He cleared his throat. "Good evening, sir."  As he approached the desk, the other looked up, noticing his visitors for the first time.    Then the  guard bent down, and whispered to the mayor, blissfully unaware that the two elves could hear him clearly.

"Sir, these two are from Imladris.  They finally sent the help we asked for.  Better late than never, if you ask me!  But the thing is, they say they did send help before, but he never arrived.   And the dark haired one – he says the one they're looking for is his brother."

"Oh, no,"  murmured the mayor.

"I know.  Could you talk to them, please sir?"

"Very well."  The mayor stood then, dismissed the guard, and slowly walked the length of the room towards Legolas and Elladan.  They exchanged worried glances.  Both had a very uneasy feeling about this.  The people here clearly knew something about Elrohir, but it was obviously not good news.

"Good evening.  I am Aldor, mayor of this town.  I thank your Lord Elrond for sending aid at last.  But my guard tells me that you are also looking for someone?"

Elladan said nothing.  "Yes,"  replied Legolas.  "A – companion – who came this way, we believe.  Do you have news?"

"Possibly.  One of our patrols - met - an elf a few days ago.  A healer.  He carried this."  Aldor held out a round metal disc, slightly smaller than his palm. It was embossed with the stamp and insignia of Imladris.  "Do you know it?"

Legolas glanced at the token, then at Elladan. It was clear he recognised it.  "Yes,"  Elladan spoke at last.  "I know it.  It belongs to my brother.  Where is he?  Is he still here?"

Aldor regarded Elladan with great sympathy.  "I'm truly sorry.  I've bad news, I'm afraid.  The elf I speak of had been attacked.  There are outlaws in the Angle.  There are always a few, but these marauders are more dangerous than most, and are taking advantage of the chaos this fever is causing."

He hesitated, then spoke the words both Elladan and Legolas had been dreading to hear.  "When we found him, he had been dead for several days."

**To be continued**


	5. A Question Of Identity

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**Chapter Five –  A Question Of Identity**

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Legolas stared at Aldor incredulously.  Beside him, Elladan had gone white, but then he dropped his head into his hands, his dark hair veiling his face.  He said nothing.

"What - " Legolas' voice failed him.  He swallowed, then tried again.  "What happened to him?  Do you know?"  Another thought occurred to him.  "Are you absolutely _sure_?"

Aldor nodded slowly.  "Yes.  I'm sorry, but there seems no doubt.  The medallion …"

Legolas studied the token again.  In flowing script, in both Sindarin and Westron, it authorised 'Elrohir Elrondion' as an emissary and ambassador of Imladris.  Yes, Aldor was right.  There could be no doubt.  Somehow, despite Elladan's horrifying dreams and visions, _he_ had still believed they would find Elrohir safe and well.

Mention of the medallion seemed to penetrate the daze that enveloped Elladan.  He felt inside the collar of his tunic, and pulled out a small disc attached to a fine chain of mithril.  Pulling it over his head, he passed it to Legolas.  "El and I both have one," he said tonelessly.  "That was his," he added, indicating the one Legolas already held.

Legolas compared the two.  They were identical – naturally – apart from the name.  A broken link on Elrohir's showed where it had been attached to a chain at one time, and wrenched off.  He fingered them absently, before silently giving both back to Elladan.   He felt utterly devastated at the news of Elrohir's death – and could not begin to comprehend how Elladan must feel.

He turned to Aldor again.  "What happened to him?" he asked once more.  "How – how did he die?"

Aldor hesitated, and glanced at Elladan.  He was staring at the two medallions, turning them absently in his hands, and did not seem to be aware of anything else.  "There had been a fight.  He was badly injured.  But the worst wound – it was a knife wound, here."  He indicated his stomach.  "From what we could tell, it looked – it looked as if he bled to death.  I'm sorry.  I wish I could say that he died quickly."  

Elladan flinched, and went, if possible, even paler.  His fist tightened on the token that had been Elrohir's, the knuckles white as he clenched his hand around the medal.  "No," he breathed.  "No."

Legolas cursed himself, both for asking the question, and for not being quicker to halt Aldor's unfortunate words.  Now was not the time for Elladan to learn of the nature of his twin's death.  For the moment, the mere fact itself was hard enough to bear.  Elladan seemed to have lapsed again into a haze of disbelief and incomprehension, turning the metal discs unseeingly in his hands, and murmuring his brother's name over and over again.  Legolas realised that his companion was in no state to take in any information, or to question Aldor about what had occurred.  He would have to do it himself.  

With an effort, he thrust his own grief to one side.  The loss of a life-long friend was terrible.  The loss of a brother must be a thousand times worse.  The loss of a twin – Legolas could not even begin to understand the pain Elladan must be enduring.   There was only one other he knew of in the whole of Middle Earth who _would_ know – and Elrond was far away in Imladris.

Legolas drew a deep breath, straightened, and faced Aldor resolutely.  There was no trace in his expression of the inner turmoil he felt.  "What else can you tell me?"  he questioned.  "When was he found?  _Where_ was he found?  What else can you tell me of the battle?"  He drew Aldor away from Elladan a little, trusting that his friend would be too lost in his misery to overhear.  "They were twins," he explained softly.  "They shared a unique bond, one I have never really understood.  If there is _anything_ you can tell me about what happened, what your patrol found, that might help in some way, then please let me know.  Later, if necessary, when we are alone."  He did not want Elladan inadvertently overhearing any of the more distressing details.

"Twins?"  Aldor repeated.  "Then I am doubly sorry.  Yes, they may well have looked alike in life."   Legolas wondered, a little sickly, what other injuries Elrohir must have sustained if he 'may have' looked like Elladan.  He glanced again at Elladan, hoping he had not heard that comment as well.  But he did not seem to be aware of anything at all.  He had stopped the incessant fingering of the two medallions, but still gripped Elrohir's tightly, his hand shaking.  Turning back to Aldor, something suddenly occurred to him, and Legolas questioned him again on what he knew.  "You said one of your patrols found him.  Could you send for them?  Would it be possible for us to talk to them?  They may have more information."

Aldor nodded.  "Yes.  Wait here, I'll send someone to find them now."  He left, leaving Legolas and Elladan alone in the long room.

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Elladan stared at the medallions Legolas had just returned to him.  The one Aldor had found was Elrohir's, there was no doubt about that.  There were only three in existence – his own, Elrohir's and Arwen's.  And now Elrohir was dead.  He swallowed dryly, aware of the pounding of his heart, and the swirl of his thoughts.  Elrohir was dead.  It was impossible.  Vaguely, he wondered how he could feel so completely numb, and yet feel such agonising pain at one and the same time.  He felt empty, totally lost, with a sense of utter desolation.  There was a searing pain in his chest that made it difficult to breathe.  His eyes were burning, too, but the depth of his anguish went far beyond the reach of mere tears.

He recalled with horror the times as a child when he had wished he could be just Elladan, a person in his own right, not _always one of a pair.  Well, it seemed that his wish had been granted.  And now he would give anything to have it changed.  He would give his life itself; despite the fact that he knew it would inflict this same paralysing grief on Elrohir.  The twin he loved, fought with, argued with; who was probably closer to him than even a lover could ever be, was gone, and he faced the future, the rest of his life, forever alone._

Dimly, he heard Legolas questioning Aldor.  Their voices were faint, seeming to come from a long way away, but it did not stop him hearing Aldor's reply, describing how Elrohir had died.  The weight of the words hit him like a blow, and he turned his head away in horror.  No.  Oh no.  Not El.  He did not deserve that, did not deserve such a miserable, lonely, agonisingly slow death.  Apart from his vague fears, dreams and unease, he had had no idea, no inkling of what had occurred.  With the link between them severed – possibly by distance – Elrohir must have felt truly alone for the first – and last – time in his life.

He recalled Celebrían's words as they had left Imladris.  He had promised to bring his brother home.  He had let her down.  For the first time in his life, he had failed his mother.  When he returned home, somehow, he would have to explain to his parents what had befallen Elrohir.

Elladan realised that he was still clutching Elrohir's insignia in one hand, while his own dangled loosely by the chain from his fingers.  Slowly, he replaced the chain around his neck, then opened his hand to look again at the token.  His fingers felt stiff and were difficult to move.  The edges of the disc had dug in, leaving white indentations on the palm, and he looked with surprise at a smear of blood along one edge.  The sharp ends of the broken link had cut deeply into one finger, but he had never even felt it.   He also became aware that Legolas was calling his name, had been calling him for some time, and had laid a hand on his arm.

He raised his head to look at Legolas, and could see grave concern in his eyes.  "Elladan?"  Legolas spoke again, gently.  "Elladan, Aldor spoke of finding only one elf.  What of Bereth?  Where is he?  Is there a chance, any chance at all, that Elrohir may have given the medallion to him?"

"You mean - "  Elladan blinked, trying to gather his scattered thoughts, and establish exactly what Legolas did mean.  "Yes, of course, how could I forget about Bereth?  But then – it may not have been El they found?  It could be Bereth?  But in that case, where is Elrohir – or Bereth?"  He rubbed his eyes, trying to think.  "I cannot think why El would have given the pendant to Bereth, but in any case, one of them is still missing."  He paused.  Legolas' words had kindled a very slight, faint hope in him.  There was just a chance that Elrohir was alive. He had to cling to that hope, or succumb to despair.  He glanced down at the token again, then raised dark, shadowed eyes.  "Legolas, I have to know.  Who was it they found?"

"Of course you need to know,"  Legolas responded.  "Aldor has sent for the guards who found the – who found him.  I thought they may know something."

In a few minutes, Aldor returned, two guards with him.  "This is the patrol who found your brother.  Derufin, and Dervorin.  They are brothers too.  I hope they can tell you something of comfort."  He left them then, returning to his desk.

The two guards looked a little ill at ease, but spoke up readily enough.  "I'm real sorry about your brother.  When we found him, he'd already been dead a day or two.  There was nothing we could of done," explained one.

"We do not fault you for that.  But my brother travelled with a companion.  We cannot tell which of them you found, and Aldor did not mention anyone else.  Could you – could you describe the one you found?  Was there any sign of anyone else?  Did you search the area?"

"We didn't search the area, no. We did have a quick look round, and found a pendant or something half in the grass.  We gave it to Mayor Aldor.  But there weren't no sign of anyone else."

The second guard answered Elladan's initial question.  "What did he look like?  Well, he was an elf.  Tall, with longish, dark hair, and the ears.   Young-looking, too, I'd say about the same age as Dervorin here.  He's twenty."

Elladan sighed.  The description was so general it would fit nearly half the population of Imladris.  It could certainly apply to either Elrohir or Bereth.  "Did he look like me?"

Derufin nodded.  "Yes, he did."

Elladan's heart froze.  So, it _was_ Elrohir.  "I see."  He stopped, unable to say anything else.

"But to be honest, begging your pardon, all elves look the same, don't they?  Except you!"  he pointed to Legolas

Elladan began to breathe again.  There was still a chance.  And surely the guards must have noticed _something distinguishing?  "What about clothes?  What was he wearing?"   he asked them._

"A grey cloak, like the ones you've both got.  Trousers, black or dark blue, I think.  And …."  he paused, trying to remember.  "Oh yes, he had a bag made of leather, with a healer's mark on it.  It was empty.  I suppose the outlaws had stolen the medicines.  But that was how we knew he was a healer, and we guessed he was on his way here."  

Elladan began to feel frustrated.  The details were still too generalised.  He tried to think of anything else they may have noticed.  "What about his horse?  They were both riding.  Did you find his horse?"

Dervorin shook his head.  "We didn't see no horse.  But they'd have stolen that too, like as not!  But it was difficult to tell much.  There was - " he hesitated, and looked at Dervorin.  "There was cuts, and bruises on his face."

Legolas glanced at Elladan.  This was not as much help as he had hoped, and the lack of a clear answer was beginning to wear on Elladan.  "Could you show us where you found him?  Tomorrow?  We may be able to find something.  And where – where did you bury him?"

But both Derufin and Dervorin now shook their heads.  "We didn't.  Because he was an elf, and a healer, we weren't sure what to do, so we brought him back here yesterday.  You'd have to ask Mayor Aldor.  I expect he was buried this morning."

Legolas could have kicked himself.  Yes, of course Aldor had seen him.  But before he could ask the mayor, Aldor had rejoined them.  "Ask me what?" he enquired.  

"The elf you found,"  Elladan asked him urgently.  "Is he still here?  Or have you given him burial?"

"Still here.  I was about to ask if you felt ready to see him yet.  I know you will find it – distressing.  We would have buried him this morning with the rest of the dead from this fever, but when I saw the medallion and realised who he was, I felt it should be a little more formal."

"There is a chance – just a chance – that it may not be my brother, but his companion.  I have to see him, I have to know!  Can you take us there now?"

Aldor looked surprised.  "Yes.  Yes, of course.  I had no idea there was any question over his identity.  You never mentioned anyone else. Let me take you."

Dismissing the two guards, he led them out of the room and along a hallway.  He halted at a door at the far end, and from his belt took a key to unlock it.  He took a small lamp from a table and passed it to Elladan, and took another himself. "This way," he said briefly.

The door opened onto a flight of stairs that led downwards.  It was dark, and the light from the lamps flickered on the stone walls.  It was damp and chill down here, and moisture ran down the walls.  At the bottom of the steps a passageway ran back in the opposite direction, with doors opening off one side.  At the end there was a further door.  Aldor unlocked that as well, then stood to one side.  "In here," he motioned.  "I will leave you now, give you a little privacy.  Tell me when you are ready to leave."  He retraced his steps back up the steps and halted by the door at the top.

Cautiously, Elladan reached out and opened the door.  It swung open to reveal a small room, very dimly lit by tiny windows near the ceiling.  There was just enough light to see shelves, laden with all manner of goods, around the walls.  It was clearly a storeroom.  In the centre stood two trestles, with rough planks resting across them.  A still figure lay there, shrouded in a dark cloak.

Legolas stood back, and motioned for Elladan to go in front.   "After you," he murmured.  Elladan took one step, then halted.   He turned his head towards Legolas.

"Legolas?  I feel unsure I can do this."  He swallowed.  "The injuries they spoke of – if it is El –"  his voice wavered.  "I – I  just need a moment alone."

"Then let me do it.  Wait here.  Join me when you feel ready."

Elladan merely nodded.  He leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, feeling the chill of the dank stones seeping through his cloak, and took a deep breath in an attempt to slow his racing heart, and quell the blind panic he felt.  He waited.

Legolas stepped into the room, the lamp in his hand casting strange shadows all around.  He stopped by the makeshift table.  He could quite understand why Elladan had been unable to go through with this.  He found it impossibly difficult himself.  Very slowly, he stretched out a hand which shook slightly, and taking one edge of the cloak draped over the figure, folded back one corner.  He let out a long sigh.

"Legolas?  Is it El?"  Elladan's voice sounded strained.

"No.  Not Elrohir.  Elladan, this must be Bereth. Come and see."  Elladan was already beside him, gazing down, his head bowed in silence.

Elladan felt awash with conflicting emotions.  First and foremost was an overwhelming relief.  _This was not Elrohir.  Secondly, and nearly as intense, was a deep sorrow.  He had known Bereth for many, many years, laughed and played with him, trained with him.  He should not have died in this way.  There was also a profound guilt.  Bereth deserved more from him than this.  It was __wrong that his primary reaction was relief that the dead elf was Bereth, rather than Elrohir._

"Yes."  Elladan spoke at last.  "Yes, it is Bereth.  The guards said there was no sign of anyone else where they found him.  So why was he alone?  Legolas, where in all of Arda is Elrohir?"

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Notes:**   OK, so what has poor Bereth done to upset people?   Everyone wanted him to be dead, not Elrohir!   Happy now?  I've even been getting death threats from Elladan for hurting his twin!!  

I've been kind to you – there's only a minor cliffhanger this time – if I'd been _really evil, I'd have ended the chapter four paragraphs back, just where Legolas turned back the cloak to see who it was!_

Jay


	6. Midnight Fears

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**Chapter Six – Midnight Fears**

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_"Where in all of Arda is Elrohir?"  _

Elladan's question hung in the air between them.   Legolas had no answers or even suggestions. Where indeed?  He stared down at Bereth.  He had no recollection of having met him before, but had probably seen him at some time during his visits to Imladris.  He could understand how, in the eyes of men, Bereth could perhaps look a little like Elladan or Elrohir.  He had the typical Noldor features, so there was a very slight resemblance, and Legolas had heard the comment 'all elves look alike' from some of the men at Esgaroth as well.  But no one who knew either of them could possibly confuse Bereth with Elrohir.   

The facial cuts and bruises the guard had mentioned were painfully obvious.  Some attempt had been made to clean them, but there were clear signs of dried blood on Bereth's face and in his hair.   "What do you think we should do now?"  Legolas asked at last.

As Elladan looked down at Bereth sadly, his vision suddenly blurred as the tears he had been unable to shed for Elrohir now threatened to fall. He brushed at his eyes impatiently with the back of his hand, and had to wait for a moment before he could reply to Legolas' question.

"I think we should ask Aldor if he can spare a guard or two to escort Bereth back to Imladris.  Then I can send a message home as well.  I need to let my father know what is happening here, both how the plague is spreading and how people are responding to it.  And – I will have to write to Bereth's family.  That will not be easy."  Softly, he spoke the ancient Elvish ritual of grieving,  "May he find peace in death,"  and both he and Legolas made the traditional gesture of farewell.  

Then, sadly and silently, they left the little storeroom, and ascended the stairs to where Aldor waited for them.  After explaining that they had identified Bereth, Elladan added:  "I would like to send him home.  I wondered if it would be possible for you to send one of your guards with him?  I would go myself, but cannot, we still have no idea where my brother may be.   We will continue to search for him, but – but I fear  we will not find good news."  His expression was sombre.

Aldor nodded.  "I could send Dervorin and Derufin.  They're still here.  If I do, would you tend to those who are ill first?  Remember, we haven't seen anyone since we first asked for help over two weeks ago."

"Yes, of course.  We can do that now.   If you will show me where your infirmary is?"

Aldor summoned Dervorin and Derufin to him, and explained their errand.  "You will leave in the morning.  Go and rest now, but would you first please take our guests to the infirmary?"

The two guards saluted, then led the way out of the house and back into the main thoroughfare.  Then they turned off into a side street and continued.  "The infirmary is along here," explained Derufin.  "I'm sorry about your friend, but I'm glad it weren't your brother we found.  What're you going to do now?"

"After we finish here, continue to look for him."  There was a hopeless note in Elladan's voice.  "If you could tell us where you found Bereth, we will start there.  And then …"  he shrugged, a little helplessly.

"Look, I'll tell you what.  I'll ask around the other guards, see if one or two of them can go to Rivendell instead.  Then, if Mayor Aldor agrees, we'll show you where we found your friend, and help you search.  What do you think, 'Vorin?"

His brother nodded.  "All right.  I expect he'll say yes.  And if we can find any trace of the outlaws who attacked him, so much the better.  We found an isolated homestead that had been abandoned and looted. Whether the people had fled because of the fever or because they had been attacked, we couldn't tell.  There was no trace of them.  But after they'd took everything of value or use they'd burned it to the ground.  The ashes were still hot."  Dervorin looked at his brother.  "I hope we catch these bastards soon.  Your friend – no one deserves what they did to him!"

Legolas wondered what trait it was in men that led some to display such brutality and hostility to others, even their own kind.  Yet others showed the kindness and concern they had met from Aldor, Dervorin and Derufin, and from Dacy's family; had given help to complete strangers, even those of another race.  He sometimes felt he would never understand men.

They reached the infirmary and entered quietly.  Derufin spoke to an elderly looking man who appeared to be in charge.  While the guard was explaining their presence, Elladan looked around the room.  There were many beds, but several were unoccupied.  There appeared to be only about two dozen patients, which seemed odd.  The message Arahad had brought to Imladris had given the impression that there were far more victims, more than their own healer was able to cope with.  At length, Derufin and Dervorin left, with a wave of acknowledgement to Elladan.  He turned as the elderly healer approached.

"I'm glad you came at last.  I'd be grateful for any help you can give us – especially medicines.  We ran out several days ago, of just about everything, it seems."

"Of course we can help. But where is everyone?  I was expecting more victims; we were told there were very many who were sick."

The old man sighed sadly.  "Oh, there were, there were.  But they died.  Nearly all of them.  Our healer as well.  After that, there wasn't no one much left to care for the rest.  I did what I can, but – I know far too little."

"Forgive me.  I thought you were the healer here."

Tears came to the man's eyes.  "No. He was my son.  I did what I could for his sake, from what he'd told me about his work, but I know so little about what to do, and I'm tired, so tired …"

"Then rest.  Let us help you.  I grieve for your loss, _iauradan."  The title simply meant 'old man', but it sounded more respectful in Sindarin._

Leaving Elladan to sort through the medicines they had brought, and to examine the victims of the fever, Legolas led the old man away to one of the empty beds in a dimly lit, quiet corner of the room.  "What is your name, _iauradan?"_

"Duinhir.  My boy was Duilin."  He leaned heavily on Legolas' arm, as if the few steps across the room were too much for him.  Legolas pulled the covers back from the bed, and helped to settle Duinhir, removing his boots, before covering him again. 

"Goodnight, _iauradan_ Duinhir.  May you sleep well."

Duinhir gave a soft sigh as his eyes closed.  "Thank you.  You're a good lad.  Just like my Duilin was."  He slept.  

Legolas returned to where Elladan was still tending to one of the patients.  "Well?"  he asked.

"Yes, I think they will be well,"  Elladan replied.  "If they have survived so far without any medication, they will probably live.  The old man – "

"Duinhir," Legolas told him.

"Duinhir, then – he did well.  But if El and Bereth had arrived when they were supposed to, they could probably have saved nearly all of them.  All it needs is the right knowledge, and the right medicines."  He paused, his expression bleak.  Thoughts of Elrohir were never far away now.  "Come, help me mix these potions."

They worked through the night, preparing potions and remedies, administering some to the sick to sooth fever or the congestion of the lungs that affected most of them.  _Peles eased their pain and helped them to sleep.  At last there was nothing else to be done.  Their patients were all sleeping, and enough draughts had been made to last Duinhir, or anyone else who tended to the sick, for several days.  As they worked, Legolas' admiration for Elrond and the twins increased ten fold.  As a warrior, he knew enough field medicine to treat broken bones, staunch bleeding, remove arrows and bind the resultant wounds.  He also knew which plants or trees could be used to provide pain relief, bring sleep, or prevent wounds from festering.  But that was the limit of his knowledge.  Under Elladan's guidance he learned much about making other medicines and treating patients.  In a tiny kitchen area Elladan found a jar of honey, which he used as well.  Legolas queried the use of it._

"If you add a little honey to a medicine, it disguises the bitter taste.  It works particularly well with children, but even adults prefer it."

Legolas gave a small smile.  "That seems to be a skill even your father has never learned!   He could learn something from you, it would seem," he added a little sourly.  He had been on the receiving end of Elrond's treatments at times, and could never quite believe the foul taste of most of the concoctions.

Elladan stretched wearily.  "I shall tell him," he agreed.  "But first I have to tell him what has happened here, and about the spread of the fever."  His voice dropped, and he added, almost to himself, "And somehow I have to tell him that we are no nearer to finding El than when we left."  From his pack he found a sheet of parchment and ink, and slowly began to write.

Legolas sat silently, lost in thought, confronting midnight fears.  He could not sleep, he was too concerned for Elrohir – and for Elladan.  Faced with the reality of Bereth's death, he had to accept that, in all probability, Elrohir was likely dead as well, killed alongside Bereth.  Perhaps when they searched with the two guards the next day – no, in the morning – they  would find some trace of him.  And what effect would that have on Elladan? 

But what other explanation was there?  Perhaps there was a remote chance that the raiders had taken Elrohir prisoner, but to what purpose?  Because he was a healer?  He recalled that Aldor – or was it one of the guards? – had reported that the medicines Bereth had carried had been stolen.  Could that be why?  What if it they had taken him for some other, more sinister reason?  And what if they _never found Elrohir?  If he had been killed and his body flung in the river, they would never learn what had happened to him.  And again, what would that do to Elladan?  An eternity of not knowing his twin's fate would be even worse than facing the fact of his death, an unending torment of uncertainty for his whole family._

Legolas gave himself a mental shake, remembering Elrond's warning words about pointless speculation.  He was working himself into a state of anxiety nearly as great as Elladan's, and one of them needed to keep a clear head, no matter what they found.  Bringing his awareness back to the infirmary, he watched as Elladan finally finished his letter, and sealed it.

"Well, that is done," he announced.  "But I fear I have taken the coward's way – I could think of nothing to say to Bereth's family, I have no idea what befell him!  So I asked my father to talk to them.  I hope they can forgive me."

"I am sure there is nothing to forgive.  I feel sure that later, when we return to Imladris, you and Elrohir will be able to tell them everything."

They spent the rest of the night perched cross-legged on one of the beds at the far end of the infirmary.  Legolas knew better than to suggest that Elladan try to sleep in the circumstances.  They talked in soft voices, each trying to avoid speaking of their fears for Elrohir, until the soft grey light of dawn filtered in through the windows.  Shortly after, Derufin and Dervorin returned.

"I've spoken to Mayor Aldor,"  Dervorin reported.  "He agreed that we can take you to where we found Bereth, and has arranged for an escort to return him to Rivendell.  They will leave shortly – did you want to be there?"

"Yes, I should be,"  replied Elladan.  "And I have a letter, if they would take it for me as well."

Making their way back to Aldor's house, they found him overseeing the two guards who would take Bereth home.  Elladan felt a moment of deep unease – this could so easily be him and Legolas, taking Elrohir back to Imladris.  And as he was all too well aware, that could still happen.

When all was ready, the two elves stood next to the travois where Bereth lay.  Aldor and the four guards stood back, granting them at least a semblance of seclusion.  Heads bowed, Elladan and Legolas placed hands on hearts, and softly spoke the words of an ageless Elvish blessing, a prayer to Elbereth.

_"Deep peace of the shining stars to you_

_Deep peace of the flowing wind to you,_

_Deep peace of the quiet earth to you_

_Deep peace of the still waters to you_

_Deep peace of the Lady of Peace to you."_

They watched silently as the escort set off, taking the track which led north-east towards Imladris.  It was not until the guards turned out of sight that Aldor spoke, breaking the silence.

"Thank you for what you have done for our sick.  With the correct medication, we can manage now.  Will you tell your father that when we are able to, we will again collect the herbs and plants he requires?  And – I hope you will find your brother.  Good luck."

Elladan inclined his head in acknowledgement.  "Thank you for your help.  Both for Bereth, and for allowing Dervorin and Derufin to accompany us.  And I hope we will meet again in happier times.  Farewell."

"Farewell.  No, wait – what is your word?"

"_Namárië_,"  Legolas told him.

"_Namárië_, then,"  Aldor repeated.

With that, the four rode off, down to the gates, to continue their search for Elrohir.  Silently, Elladan prayed fervently that today they would find some trace of him.  He just hoped that it would be good news.

**_To be continued_**

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**Author's Notes:**  The Elvish prayer spoken by Elladan and Legolas is based on an ancient Celtic Christian blessing.  It seemed appropriate, and rather Elvish.  I was going to have Elladan and Legolas find out what had happened to Elrohir in this chapter, but it got far too long.  So that will have to be in the next chapter now.  Sorry!

BTW, look out for another (very short) story of mine, 'The Touch', which is in reply to a challenge from Ithilien.  Is it slashy?  Get to the end before you decide.

Jay


	7. Barlynch

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**Chapter Seven - Barlynch**

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The four rode out from the gates, but did not, as both Elladan and Legolas expected, take the road that the previous group had used.  Instead they turned to the right, travelling north along the banks of the Mitheithel.

"Where did you find Bereth?"  Elladan asked them.

"Several miles upstream from here.  We should get there sometime after midday.  The track follows the river bank, but it's well above the flood level,"  Derufin told him.

"But – "  Elladan  fell silent, pondering what Derufin had said.   "The last we heard of them both, they were at Withypool, on the Bruinen, planning to travel downstream to Tarlong.  How did Bereth come to be _here, on this side of the Angle?  He would have had to have passed through Tarlong to get here!"_

Dervorin shook his head.  "Not necessarily.  That part of the Bruinen can be very treacherous at times.  Maybe they decided to cut across country instead, north of the marshes, and travelled west, across the Angle, then south along this river."

"We know about the Bruinen.  The path was all but impassable when we came that way, and very dangerous.  But I did not realise there was another route."  Elladan considered this new information with a sinking heart.  Their search for Elrohir would have to be widened to cover a much larger area.  "What is the land like there?  Is it inhabited?  How many villages or towns are there?"

"Well, there's a handful of villages in the central area, north of the marshes.  It's good farmland there, and there's some very isolated settlements.  There's one or two more villages along the river, but only one town, Barlynch.  It's a fair size, bigger than Tarlong.  It's just over a day's journey away.  If your two _did_ go that way, they may well have called at Barlynch – it would be on their route south.  We could make our way there to make enquiries."

The track they followed began to rise.  The land grew steeper, climbing through trees along the side of the valley.  Gradually they moved away from the river as it fell away below them.  In places they could still see the water rushing beneath the trees, but the wooded slope grew denser and denser and the glimpses of river fewer.  Eventually they reached a part of the path where the drop was almost sheer, cliffs and slopes of scree dropping down straight to the river, with gnarled trees, scrub and stunted bushes clinging precariously to the rock face.

As they approached, both Elladan and Legolas grew tense.  This place was dangerous, the perfect spot for an ambush.  On one side of the narrow path the slope fell steeply down to the river.  On the other side a cliff rose, almost sheer for about twenty feet, crowned by trees and undergrowth.  The path continued to narrow, until they had to ride single file, directly beneath the overhanging cliff.  Elladan felt all his senses screaming a warning.  There was danger here.  Neither he nor Legolas were surprised when Dervorin reined his horse to a halt.  

"This is where we found Bereth.  Just here.  We think he was ambushed there –" he pointed to the narrow path –  "and fought them off.  There  were signs of a struggle.  We found the medallion somewhere here.  Make sure you keep alert for danger."

Elladan examined the ground.  There was little to be seen now, after several days and heavy rain, just a few flattened bushes and some trampled ground  But there were still ominous dark stains on the path, which the rain had been unable to wash away.  He searched further into the undergrowth, looking for anything at all, _something which could indicate whether Bereth had been alone or not.  He found nothing, no scrap of clothing or spent arrows, no trace of the medicines Bereth had carried, no trace of his horse.  Nothing._

Meanwhile Legolas had been searching on the other side of the path, peering down towards the river, examining the slope and bushes which grew there.  Suddenly he stiffened, moving along the path to one end, and kneeling on the track to see more closely.  There, some distance below him, caught on a branch of one of the scrubby bushes, something glinted and caught his eye, a long silvery strand that shimmered in the sunlight.  He looked more carefully, studying the cliff side again.  There were traces of scuffed earth, places where the grass and trees had been ripped from their roots.  Something, something heavy, had fallen down the cliff here.  And what was that, at the base of the slope, by the rocks at the edge of the river …? 

_*Ai, Valar, no! *_

"Derufin?"  he called softly.  "Look down there.  Tell me what you see."

The guard looked where Legolas indicated.  Then he raised his head sharply, turning wide, startled eyes on his companion.  "It looks – it looks like – someone fell.  And down there, at the bottom, at the water's edge – is that … a body?"  In a rocky pool far below, a dark shape floated on the water.

"I think so.  I cannot tell from here.  I will have to climb down and look."  It would be an easy climb, the slope was not quite sheer, and there were several hand and footholds in the rocky crevasses.  Legolas turned, and was about to scramble down the cliff side to investigate when a hand seized his arm in a strong grip.  Startled, he looked up at Elladan, who was thrusting a rope at him.

"Take this.  Please.  I know you can climb that easily, but take it anyway.  Legolas, I already have to tell Bereth's family of their son's death.  I do not want to have the same conversation with your father.  I do not want to lose you too."  His face was tense, but he made no mention of what they had all seen at the foot of the cliff.

Nodding, Legolas tied the rope around his waist, knotting it securely.  While it was straightforward, he was not a fool, and had no wish to take unnecessary risks.  And if it helped to put Elladan's mind at rest, he would do it.  Then, while Dervorin and Derufin held the rope, he lowered himself off the edge.  First he clambered across to the bright thread he had seen before.  As he had thought, it was a long, slender chain of mithril, and matched the one Elladan wore.  Carefully, he disentangled it from the branches it had become snagged on, coiling it in his hand before tucking safely it into an inner pocket.  Descending further, he looked down to the rocks below and the dark shape he had seen before.  He had been right.  It was someone, lying face down in the water, dark hair fanning out around the head.   

On the trail at the top of the slope, Elladan stood still as a statue, his arms wrapped tightly about his chest, looking down at the water foaming below, but not really seeing it.  He was aware that the two guards, while concentrating on Legolas' progress down the cliff, kept casting him anxious glances, concerned at his reaction – or rather, what his reaction would be, depending on what Legolas found.  He wondered how much more of this he could take – the uncertainty, the fear, the heart-stopping moments of dread, and the interminable periods waiting for Legolas to tell him Elrohir was dead.  The resulting see-sawing emotions were a torment, veering from black despair to joyous, giddy relief, then plunging again to the grey uncertainty of not _knowing his twin's fate.  Elladan sighed, waiting impatiently, yet not wanting to hear what Legolas may say.  What was keeping his friend?  How _long_ did it take him to climb down?  What would he find?  Would he even be able to identify Elr – _whoever it was_, he corrected himself firmly – after so long?  _

Legolas glanced up to the top of the cliff, wondering how much the others could see.  The two guards, still holding tightly to the rope, looked back, and he could see the question in their eyes, the concern.  Finally standing precariously on the slippery rocks, he could see the body more clearly.  The hair was shorter, slightly curled, and flecked with grey.  _Not Elrohir.  Immediately, he shouted up to the others.  "Elladan!  It's not him!  Someone older.  I shall see what else I can tell."_

 As he drew closer, he could make out more details.  It was a man.  The clothes were shabby, much torn and mended.  Who was he?  One of Bereth's attackers, or another of their victims?  With a grimace of distaste, he turned the body over, to reveal a dagger buried deep in the man's chest. The hilt was delicately carved and engraved, unmistakeably Elvish in design. That appeared to answer one question.  But whose knife was it?  Elladan would certainly recognise it if it was Elrohir's.  Bending again, he seized the hilt and with a deep breath pulled it free, washing the blood off in the water.  Then he gripped the man's clothes and heaved him into the river, watching dispassionately as the roaring water carried him away.

Tucking the dagger securely in his belt, he called to Derufin and Dervorin that he was climbing back up, and began the ascent.  At the top, he stood again on firm ground, and untied the rope around his waist.  

"Elladan?   He must have been one of those who attacked Bereth.  But I found this.  Do you know it?"  Legolas gave the dagger to Elladan, who looked at it closely, but then returned it.

"I know it does not belong to Elrohir.  It must be Bereth's.  And he killed the man?  Good.  He did well.  He was never much of a warrior!" 

"Elladan … this is all I found.  Nothing else.  So we still have no idea if Elrohir was with Bereth."

"Then we continue to search."  Elladan turned to the two guards.  "North, did you say?  How far is this town?   Can we get there tonight?"

Derufin shook his head.  "Not really.  It's too far.  I think we should get away from here, and camp overnight, then continue in the morning.  We should get there by mid day at the latest."

They continued on along the path as the land rose higher, until they came out of the trees onto open ground.  Dusk was falling as they made camp, selecting a sheltered spot screened by rocks.  Lighting a small fire, for the night was chill, they ate and talked, while the night darkened around them.  Dervorin and his brother explained how the illness had first come to Tarlong, and when they had first realised that it was far more serious than the usual sicknesses that came every year.

"So that was when Mayor Aldor decided we needed help.  He sent out his messenger, Arahad, to Rivendell – we were that grateful when he come back and said you'd agreed!  But time went by, and no one came.  We thought …"  Derufin looked rather shame-faced.  "We thought your Da had let us down.  That he'd broke his word.  There was a lot of ill-feeling towards elves for a while, but Aldor said there had to be some mistake, and he told Arahad to go back and ask again.  Then we was out on patrol, and found Bereth – well, it were easy to work out what had happened.  We felt right bad for doubting you!"

They settled for the night, with Dervorin taking the first watch.  The light breeze dropped, and the silence grew, broken only by the calls of nocturnal creatures and the distant rush of the river.

As Elladan lay by the fire, he looked up at the stars.  They were unusually bright on this moonless, cloudless night, and Eärendil was clearly visible low on the horizon.  He wondered whimsically if Eärendil could see him, too.  Had he seen what had befallen his grandson?  He stifled a sigh, returning to the question he had asked himself repeatedly for the last week or more.  Where was Elrohir?  _Was _he dead?  How?  Why?  Had he, like Bereth, been killed or left to die, lying exposed to the winds and cold rain?  Or was he buried in some unmarked grave, forever nameless and unknown?   Perhaps he was sick or injured, so ill he no longer had any memory of who or where he was?  Or was he alone and helpless somewhere, wondering why his only brother had abandoned him?

Instead of soothing him, the peace and tranquillity of the night seemed at last to release all his pent up fears and anxieties, as the emotions he had tried so hard to suppress for so long finally overwhelmed him.  Elladan swallowed against the hard lump he could feel swelling in his throat, and took a ragged breath.  He could feel tears burning at his eyes as well, and turned over, burying his face in the crook of his arm to stifle his sobs as he wept helplessly, silently, for his missing twin.

Legolas heard the soft sounds of Elladan's tears, and wished futilely that there was something he could say or do to offer some comfort, or ease his friend's distress.  But what?  He would not offer false hope; they both knew the likely outcome of this search, if indeed they found anything at all.  He rolled over, careful not to alert Dervorin who was on watch, but the movement brought him a little closer to Elladan.  He stretched out one hand, resting it on his friend's shoulder, which still shook slightly.

"Elladan?"  he whispered.  "Elladan, I wish I could help you.  But remember, no matter what, I will do all I can to aid you.  You have my friendship and support.  You always will.   I hope you know that.  You do not have to be totally alone."

"I know.  Thank you."  Elladan's voice was a little muffled.  Then he turned his head.  "Thank you, Legolas.  Your words mean much to me."  He managed to give a shaky laugh.  "If we do find Elrohir, I swear I am going to kill him for causing so much trouble!"   The laugh turned into another near sob as Elladan repeated softly to himself, "If we do find him.  Legolas, do you know what frightens me most?  Not that El is dead, thought I dread that, but that we _never_ find out what happened to him.  Never.  We will just – continue – always wondering."  His voice shook again.

There was little Legolas could say, but he tried.  "If that does happen, then at least you will always be able to have hope.  Hope that one day you will find him.  Elladan, do not give up.  We may still find him, safe and well somewhere!"

"Do you really believe that?"

Legolas hesitated.  He could not lie to Elladan.  He sighed.  "No.  Not really.  Not now.  But I will not give up hope either."

"Legolas?  Thank you.  I do not think I could endure this alone."  He turned away, and fell silent.

Legolas knew he would not sleep that night, not now, with so much to think about.  He rose, and sent Dervorin to his rest, keeping watch silently over the camp, remembering sadly some of the wild times and adventures he had had with the twins.  They had once saved his life when he had nearly drowned in the Bruinen.  And there had been the breathtakingly foolhardy journey alone, at night, when he and Elrohir had decided to see if the rumours of trolls in the woods outside Imladris were true.  There had been spider hunts in Lasgalen, one of which had ended in total disaster.  And the time when Glorfindel had challenged the three of them to go on a hunt for a rare creature that had been spotted in the hills above Imladris.  It had been truly rare, a figment of Glorfindel's fertile imagination.  As dawn broke, he roused the others for another long, probably fruitless day.

It was mid morning by the time they reached Barlynch.  The guard at the gate watched them closely, but saluted them as they stopped.  He looked a little surprised, then turned and called towards a building behind him.  "Tiama!  Tiama, come here!"

After a while, a woman came out from a long, low, L-shaped building built beneath the shelter of the town walls.  She squinted in the sunlight and looked enquiringly at the guard.

"Visitors,"  he explained.  "I thought you'd be interested in them."  Leaving Derufin and Dervorin with the horses, talking to the guard, Elladan and Legolas approached the woman as she came forward, until she could see them clearly.  Her eyes widened and her mouth fell slightly open in an expression of extreme surprise, and she glanced over her shoulder at the building she had just left.  Swallowing her surprise, she smiled as she approached, and extended one hand to Elladan in welcome.  "You must be Elladan?  Greetings!  My name's Tiama, and I know who you must be, your brother speaks of you often!"

Elladan felt a flood of relief rush through him.  After so long, had they at last found Elrohir?  "Yes, I am.  Is Elrohir here? I have been looking for him for several days now,"  he said, a little hoarsely.  He felt totally stunned at the unexpected welcome.

"In there," she pointed.  "Come on, I'll show you.  This way."

They followed her across the yard and into the building.  "This used to be our school," she explained as they entered a small, crowded room.  "When the fever came, we turned it into an infirmary – it was the only place big enough for all the victims.  There were so many!  We lost many in the first few days, but things finally seem to be easing.  It's mostly thanks to Elrohir.  Since he arrived several days ago he's been working with those who are sick."  She sighed, and an expression of concern flitted across her face.

They followed her along a narrow aisle between two rows of beds, pushed very close together.  There was a small gap of space between every other bed, so that the sick could be tended.  "The ones in here are not so seriously ill, or are recovering.  The worst cases are in the next room.  Or ward, I suppose we should call it now."  Every bed was occupied by men and women, old and young.  A few were sitting, but many lay still, resting or sleeping, Legolas hoped.  Several were coughing harshly, or had laboured breathing.

Tiama went through a door in the end wall into a second room, and turned to them.  The smile with which she had greeted Elladan had faded, and she looked grim.  "The ones here are very ill.  Many have died, but their beds were soon filled again.  And there's some we still fear for."

This ward was smaller, and even more packed.  Alongside the beds mattresses had been placed on the floor to accommodate even more patients.  To Elladan, the place seemed strangely familiar, yet he knew he had never been here before.  A miasma of sickness and death hung in the air of the overcrowded room.    One man tossed feverishly, and cried out to Tiama weakly.  She went to his side, talking to him softly and reassuringly, then looked back briefly.  

"Excuse me a moment.  I have to see to Raich.  Your brother's over there."  She pointed to the far end of the room.  Elladan looked, but could see no sign of Elrohir, there seemed to be no other healers apart from Tiama.

"Where?"

"Down there in the corner.  I'm sorry, we ran out of proper beds long ago."  She turned back to the man, Raich, lifting his head so that he could drink, and wiping his face with a damp cloth.

With a deep sense of foreboding, Elladan picked his way along the floor, Legolas at his heels.  There, squeezed in an angle between two beds, a rough mattress had been placed on the floor.  Elladan knew now why the room had seemed so familiar.   It was what he had seen in his visions.

Elrohir lay there, unmoving.  His eyes were closed, and lines of pain and exhaustion were etched on his pale face.  One arm was outstretched and his hand trailed limply on the dusty floor.  Finding a few spare inches of space, Elladan knelt by the mattress.  "El?  Elrohir?  Can you hear me?" he asked softly.

Elrohir did not stir.  Elladan reached out and gently brushed a wayward strand of dark hair away from his brother's face.  "Elrohir?"  he whispered again.  He waited, but there was no response

**To be continued**

**Author's Notes:**  I'm glad that so many people liked the prayer I included in the last chapter.  It just seemed to fit.  And Tree, thank you for the fantastic review!  It must be the longest yet.  Thank you also to _everyone who has taken the time and trouble to review – it always means a lot._

BTW, I've finally got round to putting a picture on my bio page!  It's of the twins, and was drawn by Mithriel.  (I can't decide which one I like most!)


	8. Friends Reunited

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**Chapter Eight – Friends Reunited**

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Elladan swallowed, looking down at his brother anxiously.  "El?  Please answer me!"  he begged.  The only sign that Elrohir lived was the very slight rise and fall of his chest, but he showed no sign of awareness.  

Elladan fought down his panic.  He told himself that he had to forget that this was his twin, who could be dying, but that he had to diagnose what was wrong with him, just as he would with any other patient.  He placed the back of his hand on Elrohir's brow, testing for fever.  It felt cool, dry; not hot as he had feared, and instead of being flushed, Elrohir was very pale, his face almost grey.  Elladan leaned forward, placing his head on his brother's chest, listening.  Victims of the plague had laboured breathing as they struggled for breath as their lungs filled with fluid.  Elrohir's breathing was shallow, but quiet and uncongested.  Next he carefully lifted the outflung hand.  As he placed it back on the shabby mattress, he monitored the pulse.  It beat weakly, far more slowly than normal.  And there was more.  Through their link, he could feel his awareness of Elrohir's presence was faint, worryingly faint.  He frowned.  There was something seriously wrong here, but Elrohir did not appear to be ill from the fever, so what ailed him?  

Elladan looked up as a shadow fell across him.  It was Tiama, and she looked down at Elrohir with a slight smile.  "He's asleep.  And about time too!"

"Asleep?"  Elladan was certain it was not that simple.  Elrohir was closer to unconsciousness than mere sleep. "I wondered if he had caught this fever."

Tiama shook her head.  "No, he's about the only one who hasn't!  He said elves were unaffected by such things.  But since he arrived here – what, ten days ago? – he's been working with the sick here, single handed most of the time, without a break.  He's exhausted."

Elladan wondered about that.  While simple exhaustion could account for _some of his brother's condition, he knew that there was something more, something he was missing.  But what?  _

Legolas bent down beside him.  "Elladan?  Do you know what is wrong?"

Elladan shook his head, frustrated.  "No. Not yet.  I can find nothing that would account for this."  He looked up at Tiama again.    "You said he had been treating the sick?"

Tiama nodded.  She still stood over them, her expression now even more concerned than before.  Her assumption that Elrohir was simply asleep had been proved wrong, and she could tell from his brother's reaction that he was deeply worried.  "Yes.  He was so gentle, so caring.  He has great skill.  But for all that, there was nothing we could do for some of the sick, no matter what he did.  He took it hard, when they died.  Especially the children."  Tiama's expression was sympathetic.

Elladan began to get the uneasy feeling that he knew what it was that was the matter with Elrohir.  He just hoped he was wrong.  "No matter what he did?  What did he do when he treated them?"

"Well, I've never seen anything like it!  It seemed as if his very touch soothed them, before we used any of the medicines he brought.  He's very skilled for one so young.  I felt it myself; a sort of warm glow, that made it easier to breathe.  I don't know what it was he did."

Elladan understood, now, what ailed Elrohir. He looked back at his twin in dismay, smoothing the hair back from his brow.  "Oh El, you fool!  I thought you knew better!" he said softly.

"What do you mean?"  Legolas questioned him.

"I mean that he was using his own strength, his own energy, to heal the sick and ease their pain.  When there are just one or two, it is of no matter.  But with this many –" he waved a hand at the crowded infirmary – "it could leave him dangerously weakened.  He knows better than that!"  he repeated.

Elladan sat down at one end of the mattress and pulled Elrohir towards him, so that his head rested in his brother's lap.  Placing one hand on his twin's chest, Elladan extended his own senses to judge his condition.  What he found reassured him a little – but only slightly. Elrohir was exhausted, and very weak, but perhaps not quite as dangerously so as he had feared.  Maybe he had not been so recklessly rash after all in healing these people, but he still needed help.  Closing his eyes, Elladan concentrated, imparting a little of his own strength to replenish Elrohir's depleted energy.  After a while he felt his brother's heartbeat quicken, returning to normal, and a little of the exhaustion lifted, although he remained deeply asleep.

He looked up at the sound of Legolas' voice.  He still looked concerned.  

"Elladan?  I think you should stay here for now, and look after Elrohir.  I can help Tiama.  And I need to tell Derufin and Dervorin that we have found what we sought."  Legolas watched Elladan closely as he spoke.  The difference that had come over him since their arrival and discovery of Elrohir was remarkable.  It was if an immense shadow had been lifted from him, but now the weariness of several sleepless nights was catching up.  Elladan had been as tense as a coiled spring for far too long, and the release of that tension, which had been driving him for the past week or so, had left him limp with reaction.

Elladan nodded, yawning, and he leaned back against the wall.  Elrohir's head still lay pillowed in his lap.  "Very well.  Just for a moment, while you talk to the others.  Call me if you need me."

Even as Legolas agreed, he knew it would take a very grave emergency before he would consider disturbing Elladan now.  He was already drifting into sleep, his eyes becoming glazed and unfocused.

It was past midday before Elladan awoke.  He came to with a slight start, wondering where he was, but then the events of the morning came back to him.  Elrohir was still asleep, his eyes still closed, but he did not seem to be as deeply comatose as before.  Elladan shook his shoulder slightly.  "El?  Wake up,"  he called softly.   Elrohir stirred, very slightly, and muttered something, but did not wake.

Elladan shook his twin again, a little harder this time.  "El?  It's me.  Wake up!"  This, finally, got a reaction.  

"El?  Leave me alone.  Go 'way.  Let me sleep!" Elrohir mumbled.  One hand lifted, flapped feebly at the hand shaking his shoulder, then dropped again as he subsided back into sleep.  After a while, though, the words finally penetrated his haze of exhaustion and fatigue, and his eyes slowly flickered open as he gradually came back to awareness.  Propping himself up on one elbow, he blinked again, totally bewildered and disorientated.  "El?"  he asked disbelievingly.  "I thought I could hear you.  What are you doing here?"

Elladan gave a broad smile.  "I came to find you, little brother.  I was worried about you.  We wondered where you were."

"Worried?  Why?  Anyway, I was here."  Elrohir blinked again, still rather confused with sleep, and yawned.  "El, much as I love you, let me sleep, for the Valar's sake!" he pleaded.  "I will talk to you later."  

"Very well, brother.  Sleep for now, and rest."  Elladan suddenly leaned forward and hugged Elrohir tightly.  "I missed you, little brother," he murmured.  The twins rarely embraced; they had no need to show or speak of the deep affection between them that lay beneath their bond.

Elrohir yawned again.  "I missed you too."  He sank back into sleep, but this time it was the normal, open-eyed sleep Elladan was used to.  Elladan picked up the cloak which lay pooled on the floor next to the mattress, and folded it carefully for a pillow for his brother.  He looked down at his twin.  Now that the euphoria of actually _finding_ him had worn off, there were other concerns clamouring for his attention.  But they would have to wait for now.  Leaving Elrohir still sleeping, he rose and went to find Legolas or Tiama.

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Later that evening, Elladan and Legolas stepped outside into the cool air.  For the moment, there was nothing to be done for the sick, and they both craved the fresh air, free of the taint of sickness.  They sat on a patch of grass in the 'L' of the building, where in happier times the children of the little school played after their lessons.

Elladan leaned back against the white-painted wall, deeply troubled, and needing to talk of his worries.  The clamouring concerns had intensified during the afternoon.   "It was so strange to see Elrohir like that.  It was exactly what I had seen in my nightmares – the room, the beds in the corner, the way he lay, even the hole in the edge of the mattress, and the marks on the floor!  Legolas, it was accurate in every detail!"  he said without preamble.

"So you know that you really have inherited your Grandmother's foresight.  But now you know that the other visions, where you foresaw his death cannot be true as well.  We have found Elrohir.  He is safe and well – or will be.  You have no more need to fear your dreams, Elladan!"  Legolas paused, glancing sideways at his friend.  Elladan still did not look reassured.  If anything, he looked even more troubled.

"Maybe.  Maybe not.  Every time I sleep, or rest, or allow my mind to wander, there is one scene I see again and again, in greater and clearer detail each time."  Elladan closed his eyes briefly, and took a deep breath.  "I wish it would stop,"  he whispered.

"What is it you see?"  Perhaps it would help Elladan to talk of his fears.

Elladan did not answer immediately.  At last he began to speak, slowly and hesitantly.  "It is at Imladris.  In the infirmary.  I see you there, waiting, and my father, tending him.  And I see Elrohir.  He has a fever, and is in such pain!  And –"  he stopped again.

"Go on,"  Legolas prompted him.

"And he is calling for me.  Over and over, just calling my name.  And – and crying.  Nothing else.  But I cannot seem to help him.  And with each passing day I fear more and more that this is also a true dream, that this lies in his future somewhere.  In our future."

"Where are you in this vision?"

But Elladan shook his head.  "I cannot see myself there anywhere.  And why am I unable to help him, to comfort him?  Why does El call for me so hopelessly?  Legolas, where am I in this future?  I do not fear death, not for myself, but I fear that if anything happened to me, it would destroy Elrohir."

"You do not know that."

"Yes.  I do.  I know how I felt, when Aldor told us El was dead.  It was devastating.  And –"  he stopped again, looking down at the ground.  Then he lifted his head, and Legolas saw tears glimmering in his eyes.  "I would not want to live without him.  I did not truly realise that until then."

Legolas said nothing for a moment.  He had not realised just how deep the bond between the twins was.  "But you still have no idea if this is a true dream, or one which will never happen."  He spoke slowly, feeling his way through this complex morass.  "Or if it may come to pass in many hundreds, even thousands of years from now.  Or you may be misinterpreting what you have seen.  Elladan, do not live in fear of a future which may never happen.  I think –"  he broke off abruptly as Elladan suddenly looked up at the school.  Seconds later,  a door in the wall opened and Elrohir emerged, blinking a little as the low evening sun struck him.

"So you really are both here!  I thought I was dreaming earlier, but Tiama said you arrived this morning.  Why did you not wake me?"  He smiled broadly as Elladan and Legolas stood and greeted him warmly.

"Oh, we tried, little brother, believe me, but you were sound asleep!  So we left you to it.  You obviously need your beauty sleep."  Elladan's mood had switched very quickly.  He did not want Elrohir to see his fears.

Elrohir automatically protested as he always did.  "Stop calling me that!

"Yes, why do you call him 'little brother'?  I often wondered."  Legolas asked curiously.

"Because I know it annoys him." 

Shrugging his shoulders, Legolas left to return to the infirmary and relieve Tiama, leaving the twins together.

"So, tell me little brother, how did you end up here?  You were supposed to be going to Tarlong.  This is scarcely on the most direct route."

Elrohir leaned back against the wall and began his tale.  "We had atrocious weather.  The river was in flood, and below Withypool the track was impassable.  We had to take the long way, and travelled west across the marshes.  This was the first town we came to, and when I saw the conditions here … they were in a terrible state.  Tiama was the only healer, struggling to cope with dozens of patients, and she had fallen sick herself.  I could _not_ travel on and ignore their need, although we had already promised help to Tarlong.  I knew Bereth could not possibly cope with the situation here, he is only an apprentice, so I sent him on to Tarlong, and stayed here myself.  I told him to send to me for help if he could not manage on his own.  That was a few days ago.  I heard nothing, so I assume he was able to cope."

Elladan sighed.  In a few simple sentences, Elrohir had explained everything – and nothing.  "What did you do when you arrived here?"

"I began to treat the sick.  There were so many.  Tiama was able to tell me what she had done so far, before she became too ill to speak.  I tried to help all of them … there were so many.  I tried to ease their pain, to make their breathing easier.  So many of them still died.  But the worst cases were the children.  They were so vulnerable, so scared."  Elrohir swallowed, his voice thick with tears.  "There was one little girl – her parents and brothers had already died.   She was so young, El, so frightened.  I tried everything, but she still died. She died as I held her.  There was nothing I could do, but I tried, El, I tried so hard.  But it was no good.  She was so young …"  He dropped his head onto his raised knees, and began to weep.

There was nothing Elladan could say.  He placed an arm around his brother's shoulders, and held him, offering wordless comfort while Elrohir wept.  "El, I know there was nothing more you could do for some of the sick.  But think how many more _would_ have died, if you had not been able to help them,"  he said at last.

"I should have tried harder …"  

"I doubt if even Father could have saved them.   El, I know how hard you tried.  You used so much of your own energy you made yourself ill.  When we arrived this morning and found you –"  Elladan broke off.  "Anyway, how long have you been  working here?  When did you arrive?"

"It must have been four, maybe five days ago, I suppose," Elrohir replied.

"According to Tiama, it was ten days ago.  And that would fit in with when you left home."

"_Ten days_?"  Elrohir looked disbelieving.  "I have been here _ten days?  No wonder you were getting worried.  No wonder I felt so tired.  Oh, poor Bereth!  He must think I have abandoned him!  He was already furious with me before we got this far."_

Elladan had already realised that Elrohir had no way of knowing what had happened to Bereth.  "Why was that?"  he asked.

"It was just as we approached Withypool.  There was a little girl, playing by the river.  She fell in, and the water was flowing so swiftly she was swept away at once.  So I went in after her.  Well, how could I stand by and watch her drown?  But the force of the water was much greater that I had expected.  There were a few – interesting – moments."  Elrohir relived the terrifying minutes when he had believed he and the child would both drown.  "Bereth was amazing.  He used my bow, and shot a rope downstream so I could grab it, and they pulled us both out.  But Bereth was so angry!  He wanted to know what I thought I was doing,  if I had any sense at all, and how he was supposed to explain to Father that I had drowned in the Bruinen, of all places."  Elrohir chuckled.  "Poor Bereth.  His face, when he realised what he was saying, who he was saying it to, was a picture!  El, perhaps you or Legolas could go to Tarlong, see how he is managing."

Elladan steeled himself.  He knew he would have to tell his brother what had happened to Bereth.  "El – we just came from Tarlong, we thought that was where you were going.  Bereth never got there.  He was attacked on the road by bandits, and killed.  He was found a few days ago."

"Bereth?  Bereth is dead?  But how?  Why?"  

In as much detail as he was able, Elladan explained what he knew.  Elrohir went white as he heard the details of Bereth's death. 

"Bereth.  This is my fault," he whispered.  "I should never have sent him off on his own.  I knew there was danger, we had been warned about the raiders at Withypool, and at Langwell.  _This is my fault!" he repeated despairingly.  _

"No.  You cannot blame yourself!"  Elladan told him.  "You had no way of knowing this would happen, El.  It is the responsibility of those who killed him.  It is not your fault!"  

"Yes.  It is."  Elrohir replied flatly.  "I knew he was no warrior – how could he possibly defend himself?  I should have gone to Tarlong myself, and left Bereth here, in safety, where he would still be alive!"

Elladan tried again to reassure his brother.  "El, I know how you must feel.  But it is _not_ your fault.  Did you know this would happen?  Did you know he would be attacked?  Did _you kill him?  Then how can it be your fault?  I know how you feel, but – " he took a step backwards as Elrohir rounded on him._

"NO!  Stop this!  I _should_ have realised, I knew there could be danger!  How can you possibly know how I feel, have you ever sent a friend to his death?  Then do not presume to know!"

"But Elrohir –"  Elladan tried again.

"_Leave me_, Elladan!  How can you possibly know how I feel?"  Elrohir demanded.  He whirled, and disappeared through the door into the infirmary, slamming it resoundingly behind him.

Elladan stared after him, stunned at the fury Elrohir had displayed.  "How can I know how you feel?  Because I am your brother," he whispered into the echoing silence.

**To be continued…**


	9. The Outlaws

**Chapter Nine –  The Outlaws**

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****

Elrohir stood still momentarily as he slammed the door behind him.  He was in a narrow space between two beds, at one end of the room reserved for the most seriously ill patients.  Suddenly he found the stifling atmosphere in the hospital far too suffocating and claustrophobic.  It pressed down on him, making it difficult to think or breathe.  He had to get out.  He moved quickly between the close-packed beds, making for the main entrance to the schoolroom, and went out through the doors which led out towards the town gates.  Finally outside, he took a deep breath of the cool night air, and kept on walking, wandering aimlessly through the darkened streets and alleys of the town, not noticing where his feet led him.  

His mind was reeling from Elladan's revelations.  How could Bereth be dead?  As they had journeyed together he had come to know and like the young, rather shy apprentice healer.  And if it had not been for Bereth's quick thinking at Withypool, Elrohir knew he would not have been able to escape from the raging torrent of water, and would be dead.  His actions had been foolish then; he had not taken the time to stop and think before plunging into the roaring river after Dacy.  It was a failing both his parents and brother had scolded him for many times – but he knew he would do the same again.

As he walked, the fresh air began to slowly ease the tension he felt, and his anger also faded.   However it did nothing to help the headache which had been lurking for days, pressing against his temples like an ever-tightening clamp around his head.  He realised it was the first time he had set foot outside the hospital since his arrival in Barlynch.  The days since then had passed in a blur of tending the sick, preparing and administering medicines, and healing; the days and nights blending together seamlessly amid a steadily growing exhaustion. He knew he had been running himself perilously close to collapse, but had been unable to stop, knowing that to do so would result in more deaths, and not wanting to bear that burden on his conscience.  Tiama had been one of the first he had helped, and he had been desperate to save her, knowing how much towns like this depended on their healer.  She had fallen ill on the day he arrived – had it really been ten days ago?  He could have sworn it had been only four, maybe five days at the most, but _ten_?   Added to his journey time, it meant he had been away from Imladris for two weeks.  He had only intended to be gone for about a week at the most.  No wonder Elladan had been worried, it was the longest they had ever been apart.  And now that they had at last been reunited, all he had done was to first weep, and then rage at his brother.  Elrohir began to realise that some of his despair and anger – most of it, in fact – was centred on the guilt he felt.  He felt guilty about Bereth, and he felt guilty about the way he had treated his brother.  His desperate tiredness did little to help, either.

He heard again the bitter, angry words he had flung at Elladan.  How _could he have done that?   How could he have said such things?  Elladan, more than anyone else, would know precisely what he was feeling.  They had never been able to hide things from one another, had never wanted to.  They had never needed to.  It made his words all the more unforgivable._

Elrohir found himself back by the gates, having apparently made a complete circuit of the town, although he could recall nothing of his route, or how far he had wandered.  It had been here that he had bid farewell to Bereth, waving him off with a light hearted comment about not befriending any wolves.  Then, from a walkway above the gates, he had watched his friend's departure, until he had been lost from sight in the trees.   

The wooden steps which led up to the walkway rose on his left, and he climbed them again, to look out along the path where he had last seen Bereth.  He made the ascent slowly, wearily, and stopped at the top to catch his breath, appalled at how utterly drained he still felt.  Here above the walls he at last felt free of the confining restrictions of the town, and leaned against the chest-high parapet, deep in thought.  

It was so wrong, so unjust that Bereth had died.  Elrohir had very nearly gone to Tarlong himself, but the sheer magnitude of the fever here would have overwhelmed Bereth; and his more conventional healing skills, though growing, would simply not have been enough.  He should have been able to cope with the smaller outbreak at Tarlong, but now they would never know.  It had been such a shock when Elladan told him.  Elrohir felt desperately guilty, and wished fervently that he had done things differently, and at the very least asked if someone from Barlynch would accompany Bereth.  Maybe then this would never have happened.

Elrohir sighed.  The soul-deep weariness he felt was making it difficult to think clearly, but one thing was certain.  He had to find Elladan, swallow his shame and apologise.  The hardest part would be finding the courage to return to the infirmary.  Would Elladan ever forgive him?

He tensed at the soft sound of a footfall on the wooden stairs behind him, and his hand tightened convulsively on the stonework.  It seemed the decision to go back had been taken from him.  What would happen now?

*********************************************************************

Legolas had been talking quietly to Tiama when he heard the raised voices from outside.  Startled, he looked up, breaking off his conversation.  He had deliberately left Elladan and Elrohir alone, giving them privacy, knowing they would have much to talk about.  He had not expected the reunion to degenerate into such a bitter argument as that he heard now.  The door was wrenched open, then banged shut as Elrohir stormed in.  He barely stopped, but instead weaved quickly through the close-packed beds and left again through the main door that led towards the town gates.  He ignored – or rather, did not seem to hear – Legolas' call, intent on his own thoughts.

The second door, designed to close slowly to avoid trapping small fingers, did not slam, but instead creaked gradually shut, spoiling the effect somewhat.  Legolas stared at the closed door, then caught Tiama's eye.  She looked as surprised as he felt.  

"Well!  Whatever was that all about?  From the way he spoke, I'd have thought he'd be delighted to see his brother again.  So what happened?"

Legolas shook his head.  "I have no idea.  I have rarely known them to ever disagree – not seriously like that.  I had better go after him."

Tiama stopped him.  "No.  From the look of him, I'd leave well alone for now.  You'd better see to the other one – Elladan?  I didn't hear him shouting.  Go and talk to him, find out what they said."

Legolas returned to the small grassed area where he had left the twins.  As he approached, Elladan seemed still startled and bewildered.  "Elladan?  What happened?  What is wrong with Elrohir?"

"We were just talking.  He was telling me about their journey, what he had been doing here.  Then I told him about Bereth.  Elrohir blames himself for his death!"

Legolas nodded.  "Well, of course he does."

Elladan looked even more stunned.  "How can you say that?  How can it be El's fault, what happened to Bereth?  Legolas, how can you possibly blame _him_ for this?"  he demanded.

"Hush.  I did not say I blamed him, nor that it is his fault.  But Elrohir is bound to think so.   I know I would.  So would you, I expect, if the circumstances were reversed."

Elladan sighed and closed his eyes, nodding slowly.  "Yes, I would.  I understand only too well how he feels.  I told him that.  He said – "   Elladan shook his head.  "Never mind what he said.  I should never have told him about Bereth like that, not so suddenly.  I had better go and talk to him.  Is he inside?"

"Well – no.  He walked straight past me and out through the doors without a word.  Elladan, I have no idea where he went.  I wish I did."

"He went out?  And no one knows where?  Legolas, I have to find him.  He was already upset, even before I told him about Bereth, because people here had died.  Legolas, I have to find him!"

Elladan spent some time searching, once again, for his brother.  The town gates had been closed for the night – surely Elrohir would not have ventured outside?  Elladan paused, thinking, then headed for the stables.  At Imladris, if Elrohir was ever troubled and did not wish for company, he would normally seek solace with the horses. 

The stables were on the far side of the square by the gates, and were quiet and deserted, empty of all but their normal occupants.  His own horse and Legolas' had been placed here, and Elrohir's, a black stallion identical to his own, stood quietly next to them.  With a brief word of reassurance to all three animals, he left again.  Where else would Elrohir have gone?

Then he spotted a familiar silhouette on the walkway above the gates.  Finding the steps, he approached rather cautiously, unsure of his reception.  His heart sank as he saw Elrohir's hands clench on the stonework, and noticed the tension in his shoulders as he drew nearer.  He was clearly still angry.

Elrohir's soft words reassured him, though.  He did not turn, but stared unseeingly at the night.  "Elladan?  I should never have said what I did.  Will you forgive me?"  Elrohir sounded very hesitant, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Will I forgive you?  What kind of a question is that?  Ah, El, of course I forgive you!  How could I not?"  Elladan joined Elrohir on the walkway, standing next to him.  "But will you forgive me?  I should have given you more warning about Bereth.  It would have been better if I had told you in the morning."  Elladan was very aware that his brother had been exhausted, and upset over the deaths of his patients at the time.  It had been foolish – no, worse, utterly thoughtless – to have told him like that.

"It would have made no difference.  But Elladan, although I have told you about my travels, you have said very little.  How did you come to be here?  How long have I been away?  I seem to have lost track of the days,"  Elrohir admitted.

Elladan paused, searching his memory of the last few days.  "The first we knew that something was wrong, was when Arahad returned.  He was angry, because no one had come to help them – but I knew you had left the day after his first visit a week before.  Legolas and I left at dawn the next day.  We retraced your steps as far as Withypool, and were able to confirm that you and Bereth had been that way some time before.  Then we got to Tarlong."  Elladan stopped abruptly, living again the horror of Aldor's words.   "The mayor, Aldor, said – he said they had found the body of an elf, a healer, and that he was carrying – "   he felt inside his tunic, and removed the insignia Aldor had given him, now reattached to the chain Legolas had retrieved – "he was carrying this."

Elrohir took his medallion, holding it lightly in his hand.  "Yes.  Bereth was worried he would be refused admittance at Tarlong, they were expecting me; so I gave it to him, more to set his mind at rest than anything else.  There was no need. They would never have refused to let _any healer in!"_

"They used it to identify him."  Elladan's voice sounded strangely flat.

"To identify Bereth?  But how – oh, no."  Elrohir wondered how he could have been so blind.  He was dazed with weariness, but that was no excuse.  "They thought it was me?  Is that what they told you?  El?"

Elladan simply nodded.  "I thought it was you."  His voice shook slightly.  "They told me you were dead."  His head dropped, and he gripped the stone wall in front of him until his knuckles turned white.  "El, I thought you were dead," he whispered.

"Oh, no.  Valar, no!"  Elrohir turned swiftly to his brother, and drew him close in embrace.  "El, I am so sorry.  If I had thought for a moment that _any_ of this would happen – I wish I could change things,"  he said softly.  He tried to imagine the torment Elladan had been through, and how he himself would have reacted, given the same news.  It was something he could not bear to think about.  "When – when did you realise it was Bereth?"

"Not for far too long.  It seemed like an eternity.  Legolas had to identify him.  I – I could not do it.  I was so afraid that it was you …"  Elladan broke off, trying to forget the memories.  It was something he knew would haunt his nightmares for a very long time.

"I can imagine.  El, I am so sorry.  It must have been dreadful."  Elrohir brushed a single tear away from his brother's face.  "But you must remember one thing.  I feel sure that if anything ever happened to either of us, the other would know.  I am certain of it.  Remember that."

Elladan nodded.  "I know.  And I always thought that, too.  But at Tarlong – they had proof, it seemed, and the only thing I knew without any doubt was that there was something terribly wrong.  That you had been deeply troubled.  I know why, now.  But at the time …"  Elladan took one pace back, looking at his brother closely.  "You still look troubled.  And tired.  El, you look terrible."   

Elrohir was still pale, and dark shadows circled his eyes.  At the moment, even a casual acquaintance would find it easy to tell them apart.  Elladan did not know when he had made the decision, but suddenly knew that he would not tell his brother of the nightmares and visions he had experienced; would not tell him of the premonitions of death he feared.  It would cause needless anxiety if they were groundless fears, and if they _were_ real – he did not want to place the weight of that foresight on his twin.  But it would be a heavy burden to carry the knowledge alone – they had never kept secrets from one another before.  

"Come, it is late,"  Elladan said now.  "We should return to the others, there is still much to be done."

As Elrohir turned, he stumbled a little with weariness.  Elladan caught his arm, steadying him before he fell headlong down the steps.  "El, you need to rest.  You have still to recover from the last few days.  And do not tell me you are 'fine', or that you will rest later, or any other such nonsense.  Do not argue!"

"But I –"  Elrohir swayed a little despite Elladan's supporting arm.  He felt light-headed, dizzy with tiredness, and his head still ached.  "Very well," he admitted reluctantly.  "You could be right."

**~~**

They stayed at Barlynch for a few more days.   No further cases of the plague had been discovered, and all the patients were recovering, including Elrohir.  Two more had died, much to Elrohir's regret, but there had been nothing any of them could do.  Tiama had been shockingly pragmatic.  "They were both old.  I doubt they'd have survived the next winter."  She sighed, noticing their expressions.   "You look shocked.  You have to realise that death is with us all the time, whether it is from illness, accident, old age, or the fevers that come every winter.  We grieve, but accept it.  It is a part of our life."

They left, bidding a fond farewell to Tiama, with a promise to trade for medicinal herbs as they did with Tarlong.  With a last goodbye they finally left, heading east, retracing the route Elrohir and Bereth had taken two weeks previously.  Withypool was only a day's journey away across the marshes, and they planned to visit Dacy and her mother again before returning to Imladris.

Their route took them  past dark, clustering trees, crowding close to the twisting path.  Open grassland lay to the south, gradually giving way to the marshland.  

Legolas was in the lead when he heard the approach of a horse and rider, although both were hidden by a turn in the path.  He tensed, his hand reaching automatically for his bow, but then relaxed a little as the rider came into sight.  The man rode slowly, slumped forward over his horse's neck as if injured.  Legolas approached cautiously, still wary, but ready to give help if needed.  Behind him he could hear the twins, still out of sight, arguing about some triviality.  He had nearly reached the man when he swayed, nearly falling from the horse.  Legolas instinctively moved his horse forward, ready to catch him, when he heard a shout of warning from Elrohir.  "Legolas!  Look out!"

Legolas twisted to one side, only narrowly avoiding a slash from the knife that had suddenly appeared in the man's hand.  "Damn you, elf!" he spat viciously, lunging forward with the knife again.  Legolas seized his wrist, gripping it tightly, pressing relentlessly until the knife dropped to the ground from the man's numbed fingers.  

Legolas dismounted and pulled the man roughly from his horse, pinning him to the ground, just as Elladan and Elrohir rode up swiftly.  He looked up.  "How did you know?"   he asked.  "That it was a trap?"

"The horse," Elrohir replied.  "It was Bereth's.  This must be one of the raiders who killed him."  He prodded the man with his foot.  It was not quite a kick.  "Do you have anything to say?"

The answer came very suddenly.  An arrow flew out of the trees, cutting a deep gouge in Legolas' thigh.  He gave a cry of pain and whirled, drawing his bow and an arrow in an instant.  If he had not risen to his feet a half second before, the arrow would have hit him in the back, and Legolas would probably have never moved again.  The arrow was followed by several more, and a wave of attackers poured from the sheltering wood.  Some were mounted, on a motley assortment of horses and ponies, but most were on foot.  There were a dozen or more of them, and they clearly thought they would easily defeat the three travellers.

In seconds, Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas were surrounded, the three of them fighting desperately against what seemed like the whole band of robbers.  To Legolas' shock, a second arrow, deliberately aimed,  took the man on the floor in the throat.  He gurgled and died.  The bandits clearly did not intend to leave any of their number alive to reveal their hideout.

The three elves found themselves fighting three or four of the outlaws each.  The men fought viciously, stabbing and slashing  uncaringly, not bothered if they attacked elf or horse.  Before he had been overwhelmed, Legolas had accounted for two of the men with his arrows, and now fought desperately against three more, armed only with his knife.  Both Elladan and Elrohir had dismounted, and fought on foot, pursuing those who tried to flee into the trees.  Gradually they evened the odds, until only four of the band were left.  One, either  bolder or more desperate than the rest, slashed at Elladan again, cutting a long shallow gash down the length of his forearm.

Only one of the raiders was still mounted.  Realising the unequal fight was all but over for them, he tried to flee.  He hauled hard on the reins, and wrenched his horse around, causing the animal to rear up.   He kicked it hard, and the horse reared again, its forelegs flailing the air in protest at the brutal treatment.   The movement brought it close to where Elrohir was still fighting two of the outlaws.  He whirled as he sensed this new danger, but it was too late for him to avoid the animal.  

One of the flying hooves caught him across the temple even as he tried to dodge, and he dropped heavily to the ground, senseless, to lay motionless beneath the plunging hooves.

**To be continued**

**Author's Notes**:   I'd like to recommend a fic I found a couple of weeks ago – 'Lost' by FirstMate:

http:\\www.fanfiction.net\read.php?storyid=1481397   (but replace the \ with / )

If you like twin angst, you'll love it!  Elrohir disappears, and has been missing for two years.  Then Aragorn stumbles across a nameless slave working on a farm he visits with the Rangers.


	10. Interlude

**Chapter Ten –Interlude**

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Out of the corner of his eye Elladan saw Elrohir fall, but he could not go to his brother's aid until he had slain his own assailant.  Fear gripped him as he recalled his premonitions of death, distracting him dangerously as he hesitated.   The man took full advantage of Elladan's lapse as he glanced helplessly towards Elrohir, and he lunged forward and aimed a vicious slashing stab at his stomach.  Elladan jerked away, brought back to sudden awareness at the last minute, and the blade cut harmlessly through the loose fabric at the front of his tunic.  His abrupt movement put the raider off balance, and Elladan raised his own sword, plunging it deep into the man's side.  

Pulling his sword free, Elladan ran across to where Elrohir lay.  The one remaining man who had been fighting Elrohir leapt towards his helpless quarry, a knife bared, in an attempt to stab him where he lay.  Meanwhile, the man on the horse had turned it again, and now rode deliberately straight at the prone form, intending to trample him underfoot, but the horse shied at the last minute when faced with the knife-wielding bandit.  The man likewise fell back in fear as the crazed animal was ridden straight at him.  With a curse the rider turned and rode off towards the concealing trees.

Legolas had just killed the last of the bandits who had fought against him, and now he reached for his bow again, firing at the rider before he reached shelter and disappeared.  He fell with a single cry.

As he reached Elrohir's side, Elladan turned, killing the final outlaw without a thought.  He bent over his brother and shouted a warning to Legolas, not even glancing up.  "Legolas!  Check them all.  Make sure they are dead."

Legolas simply gave a curt nod and limped over to the nearest body.  Elladan returned his attention to his twin, running his hands swiftly over him, feeling for broken bones, talking all the while.  "El?  Elrohir, wake up.  Can you hear me?  Come on, El, we went through this conversation a few days ago.  Do you remember?  Wake up, El, _please!"  Despite his pleading, Elrohir remained unconscious, laying partly on his side, his face pressed into the earth.  .  Miraculously, the horse did not appear to have trampled on him apart from that first kick.  _

Elladan turned him over gently, noticing for the first time the blood running down his own arm from the long cut.  He dabbed at it briefly with the tattered remains of his sleeve, but otherwise ignored it.  Elrohir had a deep, curved cut above one eye, surrounded by a dark, swelling lump, but fortunately he did not appear to have any further injuries.  Elladan looked up as Legolas limped over and knelt on Elrohir's other side.

"They are all dead," he explained.  "None got away.  I hope we accounted for all of these scum.  How is he?"

"This appears to be the only injury," Elladan said, running his fingers gently over the swelling.  "But until he wakes, I cannot tell how serious it may be.  Can you see if there is somewhere here where we can camp tonight?  I would rather not move him far for now, I think we should stay here and continue to Withypool in the morning."

Legolas nodded.  As he stood again, he winced in pain.

"No, wait," Elladan decided.  "Leave it for now.  You are injured as well.  Let me see that gash.  And perhaps you could help me bandage my arm."  They quickly tended to their own wounds and used a salve that Elrond had made which counteracted the most likely poisons they would encounter.  The wound in Legolas' thigh was deep, and caused him to limp, but it appeared clean and should heal quickly.  The long gash in Elladan's arm still bled freely, but caused him no discomfort.  Legolas bound it tightly, and then left to scout around the area for a suitable campsite.

Meanwhile Elladan rounded up the horses.  The one which had panicked and kicked Elrohir was still skittish, and he approached it cautiously.  It calmed as he murmured quietly to it, standing docilely while he went to Bereth's horse.  It had not been gently treated, and jerked its head away as he reached for it.  He guessed that the animal had not taken kindly to its new owner, and had been beaten.  Elladan spoke softly to it in Sindarin while he stroked the soft nose.  Hearing the familiar language reassured it and suddenly it pushed its head against Elladan's chest, accepting him as a friend.  There was another horse, and two ponies, and he soon had all five standing quietly together.

He looked up as Legolas returned after his search for a camp for the night.  "There is a place a little further down the track that seems ideal.  There is a spring, grazing for the horses, and it is sheltered from the wind.  It looks like travellers use it frequently."

They set off, Elladan carrying Elrohir carefully, and Legolas leading the string of horses behind him until they could decide what to do with the animals.  The site Legolas had found was only about a mile away, set back from the track; but with a clear view of it.  A spring welled up at the foot of an outcrop of rocks, filling a small, deep pool.  The overflow ran into another pool, wide and shallow, where the horses could drink without contaminating the main supply.  They settled here for the night, lighting a fire for light, comfort, warmth, and to cook their meal.  Elladan placed Elrohir down next to the sheltering rocks, where he would be shielded from the night wind.  Heating a small pot of water in the fire, he added a pinch of herbs; a mixture of athelas, valerian and balm, then gently bathed the deep gash from the horse's hoof, washing away the blood from the wound and the mud from the path.  The cut had stopped bleeding, so Elladan decided against bandaging it – any pressure against the bruise would be very painful.   Instead he smeared  an ointment onto the wound, and pulled a light cover over his brother. 

He sat down with a sigh, and looked across at Legolas.  Despite a tendency to worry over Elrohir, all his instincts told him that the injury was not too serious, and that his twin would awaken soon.  He just had to wait.

"Elladan?  Do you think he will wake soon?"  At Elladan's confirming nod, Legolas smiled with relief.  "Good.  After all that has happened, I would like to get him back to Imladris in one piece.  You told me on our journey that you foresaw many things concerning Elrohir.  Was this one of them?"

"No.  There were many visions, nightmares, call them what you will, but not this.  Not even a hint.  Perhaps if I had seen it, I could have done something.  Warned him.  Taken another route.  _Anything_.  But this foresight, it seems – unreliable."  He sighed deeply, confused and uncertain.  "My grandmother says it is dangerous as a guide to deeds.  Perhaps that other vision I spoke of will be one that never comes to pass.   I hope so."  He looked at Legolas again.  "I have not mentioned it to Elrohir.  It seems too – vague."

"Do you think that wise?  It clearly concerns him.  I would think it is his right to know."

Elladan nodded slowly.  "Perhaps.  But it may not even be true.  I would not worry him unnecessarily.  Not at the moment, after everything else."  He lapsed into silence, waiting.

**~~*~*~~**

The first thing Elrohir was aware of was voices.  That, and the pain in his head.  The voices were faint and indistinct, but spoke in soft, concerned tones.  He recognised both voices, but could not make out the words they spoke.  One was a voice he had known all his life, as familiar as his own; the other he had known for nearly as long.

As he lay there, trying to focus his mind, the pounding in his head continued but gradually he became aware of other sensations.  He could smell the scent of wood smoke, and felt the heat of a fire on his face.  There was the hiss and crackle of burning wood and the soft sounds of horses – several horses – grazing and moving slightly.  He could taste the sour, metallic taint of blood in his mouth.

Very slowly he opened his eyes.  A bright fire burned not far in front of him, and he closed his eyes again until they could gradually adjust to the brightness.  On the far side of the fire he could see Legolas, and just outside the circle of firelight there were the shadowy shapes of horses.  Although he could not see Elladan, he knew his brother was there, at his side.  He turned his head, very slightly, to look.

"Well.  You are awake at last.  Welcome back.  How do you feel?"  Elladan spoke gently, his voice both concerned and relieved.  

In answer, Elrohir pushed himself upright until he was supported on one arm.  The movement was a mistake, causing the world to whirl and spin dizzyingly.  His arm shook, and he nearly fell, but felt Elladan move suddenly to catch him.  The blinding headache intensified, and a wave of nausea swept through him.  He closed his eyes again, took a deep breath, and swallowed hard, hoping he would not disgrace himself.  He was aware of Elladan's arm around his shoulders, holding him, a comforting and supporting presence.  

"That was rather foolish, El."  Elladan scolded him softly.  "Be careful, sit still.  Here.  Drink this."

A cup was held to his lips.  Elrohir sipped at the liquid cautiously.  It tasted sharply herbal and rather bitter, but was nonetheless familiar and somehow comforting.  He took another sip, then another, and slowly drained the cup.  The feeling of nausea receded slightly, and the throbbing headache diminished, but he still leaned very heavily against his twin.

"Better?"

Elrohir nodded fractionally, wary of moving his head.  "A little.  Thank you.  But that tastes foul,"  he whispered.

Elladan gave a small laugh.  "Of course it does.  The remedy was one of Father's.  Do you remember it?  Now, can you tell me how many fingers you can see?"  He held up a single forefinger.

"One," stated Elrohir.  His eyes were still closed.

"That was a good guess.  Now try again.  This time, open your eyes.  Come on, El, you know the routine as well as I do."

Slowly, very reluctantly, Elrohir opened his eyes again.  After blinking once or twice to clear the fog from his brain, he could see that Elladan now held all five fingers in front of him.

"Five," he said, a little more certainly this time.  What was more, he noticed a slight   improvement; the world no longer swam and spun so sickeningly.  The dizziness and nausea were still present,  but were a little more bearable now.  Cautiously, he eased himself a little more upright, moving more carefully this time, away from Elladan's support, relieved to find he could sit unaided now.

As Elladan removed his supporting arm, he pushed Elrohir back a little.  "There is a boulder behind you.  Lean back against it."  He peered closely at his brother's eyes, searching for any irregularity there.  Then he turned slightly, taking a branch from the fire behind him.  A flame burned at one end of the wood.   Carefully, he held it before Elrohir's face, watching as both pupils contracted at the bright light.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  "Good.  El, can you remember what happened?"

Elrohir began to nod, but then grimaced and stopped.  "I remember," he said softly.  "We were attacked – it was the same men who killed Bereth.  One of them tried to escape.  He was cruel – the poor horse was terrified.  I – I think it kicked me."  Elrohir sounded a little unsure on this point.  

"Yes.  It did.  And then the man rose straight at you while you were on the ground."  Elladan sounded grim.  "You were lucky, I suppose.  It looked as if the horse jumped right over you.  But he did not get away.  Legolas shot him."

Elrohir smiled faintly.  "Well done Legolas.  But are either of you hurt?  Legolas, I remember one of them hit you with an arrow.  Are you all right?  Did El look at it?"

"Yes, have no fear.  It was just a flesh wound.  We tended to each other's injuries, like we usually seem to do."  Legolas rose to his feet, moving a little more slowly than normal, and limped across to where Elrohir sat, Elladan still kneeling beside him.

"Each other's injuries?"  Elrohir echoed.  "El, what happened to you?"

"A cut on my arm, nothing more than that.  It does not even hurt, so stop worrying about us!  But what about you?  Do you have a headache?"

"What do you think?  Elladan, do you have to ask such foolish questions?"  Elrohir snapped, sounding uncharacteristically ill-tempered.  Then he sighed.  "Sorry, El.   I apologise.  Yes, I do have a headache.  But no concussion, I think.   I know the feeling well enough by now to know that."  His hand rose to brush against the gash on his head.  "How bad is this?"

Elladan pulled the hand away.  "Leave it!  You have a deep cut where the hoof hit you, and some bad bruising, but I agree with you.  No concussion.  You were lucky."

Legolas look as if he would make some comment to that, but he restrained himself, and turned back to the fire.  "This is ready," he said, stirring a pot suspended over the flames.  He ladled the stew onto three plates, and passed one to Elrohir, who poked at it with a spoon, then put it down, untouched.  Before Legolas could comment, Elladan spoke up.

"El, I know Legolas' cooking leaves much to be desired, but you must eat."  He picked up the plate and gave it back to Elrohir.  "Now, either you eat it yourself, or I shall feed you."  He gave his brother a challenging look.

Elrohir sighed.  Elladan was quite capable of carrying out his threat, he knew that, and he did not feel up to arguing about it at the moment.  Reluctantly, he took the spoon and forced down a few mouthfuls.  He hated it when anyone, even Elladan, fussed over him, and he hated being treated like an invalid.  But by the time he had finished half the stew and set the plate aside, he had to admit that he felt a little better.  He looked up at his brother as Elladan stood to return to the fire.  

"El?  Help me up."  Elrohir held his hand out to his twin.

"Help you up?  Why, El?  Where are you going?  What are you going to do?"

"I was thinking of walking back to Imladris!  For the Valar's sake, Elladan, stop _fussing!"  Elrohir drew a deep breath, and continued more calmly.  "I need to see if I can stand, or better yet, walk, without keeling over.  We cannot stay – wherever we are – indefinitely.   Legolas, __tell him!" he pleaded, struggling to his feet._

Legolas gazed silently at Elladan, recognising the sound sense of Elrohir's words, but not wanting to be drawn into the discussion.  There was a possibility that not all of the raiders had been dealt with, and if they did have to fight again, they all needed to know Elrohir's capabilities.

Elladan watched silently, rubbing sub-consciously at the bandage on his arm as Elrohir took a few steps, slowly and hesitantly at first, but then with growing confidence.  "You see?  El, you do not need to worry, or fuss."

"I cannot help but fuss over you, little brother, but you made your point.  Tomorrow we continue to Withypool, and then home.  And _then I will be able to stop worrying about you!  Now, get some sleep.  Legolas can take first watch, then me."  Elladan waited until Elrohir opened his mouth to make the inevitable protest, then added: "And if you insist, I will wake you for the final watch."_

They settled for the night.  Elrohir was asleep almost immediately.  As he watched Legolas pace slowly, still a little stiffly, around their campsite, Elladan reflected that not the next day, but the day after, they would be safely back in Imladris, and he could finally relax.

**To be continued …**


	11. The Calm Before The Storm

**Chapter Eleven – The Calm Before The Storm**

****

The night passed uneventfully.  After a brief battle with his conscience, Elladan woke Elrohir about an hour before dawn.  He would prefer it if his brother slept through the night undisturbed, but he had promised.  Besides, he would never hear the end of it if he failed to rouse Elrohir.  Rather to his surprise, he fell asleep again, and the last thing he saw was Elrohir standing over their campsite, silhouetted against the stars.  

Elrohir, for his part, was relieved to find that the sickness and dizziness had eased while he slept, and had almost gone.  Despite his brave words earlier to Elladan about 'fussing', he had felt distinctly unwell at the time, and knew that his brother was fully aware of how he felt.   His head still ached fiercely though, and Elladan probably knew that, too.   In the circumstances, he was rather surprised that Elladan had woken him at all, despite his promise.  It was even more surprising as Elladan had been behaving rather oddly in the past few days, and had been even more protective than normal.  He seemed unable to let go of the natural anxiety he had felt during Elrohir's apparent 'disappearance'.  Finally dismissing it as one of Elladan's 'older brother' quirks,  Elrohir pushed his doubts to the back of his mind.  They were all anxious and on edge.  Rather than sit, nursing his headache in miserable silence, Elrohir stood, facing east, softly singing snatches of songs and ancient ballads as he watched the sun rise over the mountains far in the distance.

They rode into Withypool later that morning.   As they approached the outlying fields they appeared deserted, which was rather worrying.  Had the plague reached here?  Elrohir prayed they would not find Dacy or her family stricken with the illness.  They rode on, looking anxiously for signs of life.  A thin wisp of smoke rose from somewhere, and as they rounded a bend in the path saw in the distance three men tending a field near the village, and another group gathering reeds down by the river.

Despite the apparent normality of the scene, other things were very wrong.  There was an acrid stench of burning on the air, and the fields they passed had been fired.  It was not the usual seasonal razing of stubble, but wholescale devastation.  Crops, ripe and ready for harvesting, had been burned.  A cart lay scorched and blackened at the edge of one of the fields, the wheel spokes protruding like fingers.  

"What do you think happened here?"  Legolas asked.  "The raiders?"

Elrohir nodded.  "Almost certainly.  But how far did they go?  Did they reach the village itself?"

As they approached Withypool, all again seemed normal.  Children played, hens scratched in the dust, cats stalked the hens, and dogs barked.  But Elladan noticed two men standing guard outside the gate.  They had not been there when he and Legolas had arrived several days previously.  "El?  Do you recall seeing them before?" he questioned.

Elrohir looked at the guards.  "No, not that I remember.  But when I arrived last time, things were a little – confused."  Most of the village had turned out for Dacy's rescue, which would have included any guards who may have been on duty.  And after the long, bitter struggle in the river, the desperate battle to stay afloat, cling onto Dacy, and not be swept away on the flood, he had not really been in a fit state to notice. He had been pulled from the river by the villagers, too exhausted to climb up the steep bank on his own, and then half carried through the gates by Bereth.   For Elladan's sake, he had played down the stark fear he had felt, just how dire the situation had been, and how close he had come to losing his life.   He smiled wryly as he remembered Bereth's furious reprimand.

( "What were you _thinking_ of?  Did you not realise how dangerous the current was?  Elrohir, I swear you have no sense at all!  And how did you expect me to explain to your father – and your mother – and your _brother – that you drowned in the __Bruinen, of all places!  Lord Elrond's own river!  Elrohir, you are a fool!  I never dreamt that you could be such an utter idiot!"    Bereth had faltered to a stop as he realised that this was Lord Elrond's own son he was shouting at so disrespectfully.   "I mean – that is – I – ")_

"El?  Elrohir!"  Elladan's voice broke in on his memories.

"Pardon?  Sorry, El.  I was remembering something that Bereth said to me," he explained sadly.  "But no, I do not remember the guards before.  I wonder why they feel the need for them now?"

With a look of alarm, they rode more quickly towards the village.  The workers in the field, some way off, straightened, and watched suspiciously.  As they approached the gates, the guards tensed, and one stepped forward, brandishing a long stave of wood.  He looked extremely nervous.   However, the elves had been recognised, for from somewhere within the village a voice called to the two guards.  "It's all right!  These are friends!  Let them pass!"

Someone else had also seen and recognised them.   Dacy ran to greet them, but even as her mother called a sharp warning, she stopped dead just inside the gates, instead of racing down the path as she had done previously.  She hopped excitedly from one foot to the other, but did not venture outside the village.  "Mama!  It's Elrohir, and Ell'dan, and Leg'as!   Come and see!"  Her gaze went from Elladan to Elrohir, then back to Elladan again,  and her eyes widened in amazement.  She took a step backwards, one hand groping behind her for her mother's skirt, her thumb in her mouth.   "Mama?" she mumbled, rather puzzled.

Marla took Dacy's hand reassuringly, and smiled in welcome.  But she too stared at the visitors, with an expression ridiculously like her daughter's.   "Oh, my word," she murmured.  Although she had seen both Elrohir and Elladan, and knew how alike they were, she still seemed startled to see the two of them, side by side.  Overcoming her amazement, she spoke again.  "I'm that glad to see you.   'Tis right kind of you to come back to see Dacy again."  She bent to the little girl and whispered to her.  "Go back now, go and help Ciana with the little ones.  You can come and talk to them later."

They followed Marla as she led the way back to her house.  "Marla?  Did you have guards on your gates before?  Have you had trouble here?"  Elrohir asked her.

She nodded grimly.  "Aye, we had trouble, right enough."

"Was it the outlaws you told me of?"

"Outlaws?  Murderers, more like!  They came on one of our people, out working in the fields, and they killed him.  They didn't rob him, he had nothing worth stealing, but they killed him just the same.  For sport, it seemed.  Sport!"  She was understandably bitter.  "And then they burned the field.  We lost a goodly portion of our corn, but by a miracle had harvested the other fields just the day before. Anyways, since then no-one goes out alone, and they tend the fields in groups, and gather the reeds.  We put guards on the gates, and the little ones aren't allowed outside the village at all, not for anything.  We've not seen these – these killers since then, but we'll be ready if they comes back!"

Recalling the brave defiance of the two guards, and their pitifully inadequate weapons, Elrohir realised the villagers would be no match for the viciousness of the outlaws, but they would undoubtedly put up a valiant defence.  Hopefully such a sacrifice would no longer be necessary.   "I have no doubt of it,"  he said.  "We also met these killers, on our way here."

"You did?"  Marla's eyes went to the cut on Elrohir's head.  The cut had begun to scab over, but was still swollen, and the bruise surrounding it was darkening.  "I can see you've had some sort of trouble.  What happened?"  She seemed to realise for the first time that there were only three elves in front of her.  "Where's your other friend?  Where's Bereth?"

"Bereth is dead," Legolas explained simply.  "He was killed some days ago, by these same outlaws, we think.  When we came across them, one of them was riding his horse.  But you can sleep in safety – they are dead.  All of them, I hope, unless there is another group we did not see."  As they briefly recounted their encounter, Marla looked at Elrohir again.  

"You want to be careful.  A bang on the head can be nasty.  Are you sure he's all right?" she demanded of Elladan.

They ate supper together in the tiny kitchen, talking of the raiders.  They had again contributed their own supplies to eke out the meal.   "Marla, Teague, would the horses and pony be useful to you?" asked Elrohir.  "We will take Bereth's horse back with us, but we have no need for the others.  Some of the animals may have been stolen as well, but I have no idea how to return them to their rightful owners."

Teague looked amazed at such a handsome gift.  "I'll say we could use 'em!  In the fields, ploughing, or when we take the crops or reeds to Tarlong and Barlynch.  Are you _sure_?  If we ever do find out where they come from, I promise we'll return the beasts.  Thank you!"

As Teague and the twins went to inspect the horses, Marla began to get Dacy ready for bed, much to her disgust.  Legolas went to the well to draw more water for Marla, to save her the chore.  He returned to find Dacy arguing with her mother.  "But mama, I want to stay up!  Do you think Elrohir will tell me a story?"  she pleaded.

"Dacy!  You're not to ask him such a thing!"  Marla scolded.  "He will have much better things to do.  And you know he's hurt!"

Dacy looked so contrite at this reminder that Legolas spoke up.  "I am sure that Elrohir would love to tell you a bedtime story," he reassured her.  "There are many songs and tales they tell at Imladris.  I shall ask him now."

Marla followed him back outside and went to a small store next to the door, removing the lid from a reed basket.  It was nearly full of apples, all carefully packed and separated by a wisp of straw.  She removed several apples and gave three to Legolas before replacing the cover.  "Apples,"  she said.   "Would you and your friends like some?"  She glanced across the yard to where Elladan and Elrohir were grooming the horses, arguing amiably about the right way to brush a tail.  "However do you tell them apart?"

"I found it impossible at first,"  Legolas admitted.  "And it can still be difficult if I have not seen them for a while.  But it is not so hard once you get to know them."  He took the apples from her.  "El!"  he called.   Both twins looked up from their tasks and straightened, brushing a lock of hair back with identical gestures.  Marla laughed, suddenly sounding no older than Dacy.

Legolas sighed.  "They do not even know they do that, most of the time," he explained ruefully.  "Apples!" he called again.  "Do you want one?"  As they both nodded, he threw the fruit over to them.  Elladan missed the catch, and the apple dropped to the ground.

"Butter fingers!" Elrohir teased him.

"Have you two nearly finished?  Because Dacy would like you to tell her a story, Elrohir,"  Legolas explained.

"But not if it's too much trouble!" Marla interjected hastily.

"It will be no trouble at all.  It will be a pleasure.  El can finish here," Elrohir assured her.  They returned to the house.  Elrohir sat in one of the few chairs, Dacy on his lap, snuggled against him and wrapped warmly in a blanket.  "What sort of stories do you like?" he asked her.

"About kings and princes and horrible scary monsters and beautiful princesses," she told him promptly.

Elrohir tried to think what story he could tell her.   The only tale involving a 'horrible, scary monster' he could recall from his childhood was Glorfindel's Balrog – and he did not think that would be very suitable, remembering how he had awoken, sobbing with terror.  Then an idea occurred to him.  He caught Elladan's eye as he came in, and knew his twin had had the same idea.

"Very well.  Once upon a time, there was a prince.  He lived in a beautiful forest, but in the forest there also lived  some terrible creatures.  They were big, hairy, black creatures with lots of long, hairy legs."

"Like spiders?  I'm not afraid of spiders."

"Of course not.  Only silly little girls are afraid of spiders, and I know you are very brave.  But these were very big spiders.  Anyway, one day the prince went out into the forest for a picnic with a young maiden, a friend of his."

"Is she a princess?"

"Well, yes, in a way."

"Is she beautiful?"  Dacy persisted.

Elrohir hesitated.  Arwen was simply his sister.  Was she beautiful?  He glanced at Elladan, who shrugged, then nodded.  "Yes, she was beautiful.  All princesses are beautiful,"  Elrohir continued.  "So the prince and the princess rode into the forest, and stopped next to a quiet pool for their picnic.  But they did not know that the spiders lived there!"  He paused dramatically.  "But the prince began to sense that there was danger, and the trees whispered a warning to him.  They gathered their weapons, and prepared to leave.  But already they were surrounded!  Now the prince was very gallant, and he stepped in front of the princess, to protect her and defend her from the spiders.  But she too was brave and fearless, and she stood beside the prince to fight with him.  They both fought bravely, but more and more of the creatures attacked them, until they began to despair."

"What happened?" Dacy whispered fearfully.

"The princess had two brothers, brave and noble warriors, who were also riding in the forest.  They heard the cries for help, and rode to the rescue.  They slew the last of the spiders, and saved the prince and their sister!  There was great rejoicing and merrymaking in the forest that night, in thanksgiving for the safe return of the prince and the princess."

Dacy yawned.  "That was a good story.  And it had a happy ending.  But you forgot one thing.  Did the prince marry the princess?"

"No.  They decided they did not love each other enough, but they stayed friends for always.  And now I think your mother would like you to go to bed."

Marla appeared, and scooped Dacy up out of Elrohir's arms.  She was all but asleep.  "Thank you.  It was very kind of you to tell her that story.  Giant spiders indeed!  And talking trees!  Whatever next?  But she enjoyed it."

As Marla carried Dacy into the single sleeping room, Legolas glared at Elrohir.  "That is not exactly how I recall it!  There were only five spiders, and Arwen and I had dealt with all of them by the time the 'brave and noble warriors' arrived!"

"But you must admit this makes a better tale.   But Legolas, there is one thing I never understood.  Whatever made you think you had to protect Arwen?"

"It was sheer, blind terror," Legolas admitted cheerfully.  "Not fear of the spiders, but fear of what your father, and mine, would do to me if anything happened to her!"

Elrohir nodded, remembering.  "They can be a fearsome combination."  He broke off abruptly as Marla returned, leaped to his feet, and eased her down into the seat.  She sat with a weary sigh, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

"Dacy's a good girl, but she can be such a handful.  I wonder how I will manage when this other little one arrives!"

"When is the child due?"

"In a few weeks.  I hope – I hope all goes well.  There was another child, last year.  A boy.  He was stillborn."  Her face grew sad at the memory.

Elrohir knelt at her side.  "Marla, you know my brother and I are healers.  Will you permit me to examine you?  Or Elladan?"

"You?  But childbirth isn't men's work!"

"You forget, we are not men.  We are elves.  I know what I am doing; I may be able to set your mind at rest.  But if you would rather not, then I understand."  Elrohir smiled at her reassuringly.

Marla returned the smile, as her only reservations that this was solely a woman's concern vanished.  "No.  No, I don't mind.  Thank you."

In response, Elrohir placed both hands on her abdomen, extending his healing senses, feeling the life within.  It felt totally different to an Elven child, somehow alien.  But despite that, there was a strong stir of life, and a restless movement.  The child was a boy, he could tell, strong and healthy, well-grown.  He opened his eyes to find Marla staring at him in awe.  

"What – what did you do?  I felt something, something soothing.  I don't feel so tired no more.  Thank you.  But what of the child?"

"The baby is well.  I am sure h – it will be healthy and strong."  He remembered at the last minute that humans did not know of a child's sex before it was born.  "I have no gift of foresight, but I feel all will be well."  He looked sharply at Elladan, who had made an abrupt movement.  There was something wrong there, his brother had been behaving very oddly of late.  He seemed deeply worried about something.  Ignoring it for the moment, he continued, "And Marla, I have a request of you.  If the child is a boy, will you consider the name Bereth for him?"

She smiled, nodding.  "Aye, we can do that, can't we Teague?  Bereth.  I like the sound of it.  And Beretha if she's a girl."  She and Teague departed for their bed then, settling on the mattress next to Dacy, leaving Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas in the living area.

As they drifted into sleep, Legolas spoke.  "Elrohir?  Thank you for not telling Dacy who the prince in your story was.  I can never get used to the way people react!"

"It would have been unfair – they would probably have died of shock.  Besides, how could I shatter Dacy's illusions?  – that the wonderful prince in her story was just _you_, when you had just been fetching water from the well!"

Long after Legolas and Elladan slept, Elrohir lay wakeful and restless, deep in thought.  He was both greatly concerned – what _was it that Elladan was so worried about?  Why was he so jumpy?  Had something happened at home?  And, if he was honest with himself, he was also hurt.  Why would Elladan not talk of his concerns?  Why did he not share his worries?  Why did he feel the need to keep his  terrible secret to himself?_

They roused themselves at dawn the next morning.  As they prepared to leave, Marla heated water over the fire and prepared an aromatic tea.  She took three cups out to where Legolas and the twins were preparing their gear.  "Here.  This'll keep the chill out on this cold morning."  She shivered a little, pulling her shawl a little closer.

Elladan also shivered.  "Yes, it is cold," he agreed.  "Thank you.  Marla, go back inside.  Keep yourself warm."    As Marla turned to go back indoors, Elrohir took all three cups from her.  He gave a cup to Legolas and turned to Elladan.  

As Elladan took his, his hand shook slightly, and the cup suddenly slipped, falling to smash on the hard earth.  The steaming liquid quickly soaked into the ground.  "Marla!  I am so sorry!" he apologised.

"It doesn't matter.  Accidents happen.  I'll make you some more."  Bending, she picked up the shards and went back inside.

Elrohir looked sharply at his brother.  "Elladan, what happened?  Why did you drop that?" he queried.

"I just could not seem to hold it," Elladan admitted.

"Let me see your hand," Elrohir instructed.  He took his twin's hand, turning it this way and that, finally turning it palm uppermost.  "Hmm.  There is nothing obvious I can see.  Legolas, how bad was that cut on his arm?"

"El, I can answer for myself!"  Elladan protested.

"Aye, I know you can, but Legolas will tell me the truth, not that 'it does not hurt', or that you 'cannot feel it'."

"Elrohir, that _is the truth.  It really does not hurt.  I cannot feel it – not at all.  It feels numb."  As he spoke, Elrohir was pushing up his sleeve to inspect the bandage.  It was smeared along its length with ominous dark stains.  Then Elrohir began to carefully unwrap the bandages.  The edges of the wound had not begun to heal.  The looked red and inflamed, and blood, so dark that it seemed almost black, oozed from the cut._

"El, this looks bad.  You should have said something!"  Elrohir scolded.

"I did not realise how bad it was.  It did not hurt, and I had other things to worry about."

Elrohir slowly drew one finger along the length of the cut on the unbroken skin.  It was a ticklish spot, and would normally make Elladan squirm.  He showed no reaction.  "Can you feel that?  Does it hurt?"

"No."

Next, Elrohir squeezed each finger in turn.  "Can you feel that?"

Silently, Elladan shook his head.  Elrohir grew more and more concerned.  While severe pain was always worrying, a complete _lack_ of sensation was cause for even more concern.  "Elladan, I want you to open and close your hand."  Elladan tried to comply, but found he could only bend his fingers halfway, and was unable to straighten them completely either.  "El, you need to get back to Imladris.  I want father to look at this.  Can you feel _anything?"_

"No.  Nothing at all."

"Elrohir, what is it?  I cleaned and bandaged the wound myself – I know enough field medicine to do that!  And we used that ointment your father gave us.  He said it would work against most poisons."  Legolas was feeling very guilty.  The shallow cut had seemed clean and very minor.  What had he missed?

"_Most poisons.  I have seen poisons that prevent the blood from clotting, so a wound continues to bleed, poisons that cause a wound to become infected, and poisons that cause extreme agony.  But I have never come across one that stops a wound hurting!  This – this is something new.  I think my father should see it as soon as possible.  I want to ride straight for Imladris.  If we keep going, we can be there by dawn tomorrow.  Are you both ready?"_

Elladan and Legolas both nodded.   They left Withypool, and set off for Imladris at a fast pace.  As far as Elrohir was concerned, they could not get there quickly enough.

****

****

**To be continued …**


	12. Those Who Wait

**Chapter Twelve – Those Who Wait**

****

**(Imladris – a few days previously)**

****

Elrond stared blankly at the document before him, realising he had read it at least three times, without taking in a single word.  Other papers lay on his desk, some bearing his signature, but he could recall none of them.  He pushed the papers away with a sigh of frustration.  Just lately, he knew he had been tense and exhausted, short-tempered from lack of sleep and worry.  He had found it impossible to concentrate.  He was only too well aware of the reason why.  Over two weeks ago – _two long weeks – his younger son had left home on a simple, straightforward errand.  One which should have taken him a few days; a week at the most.  But since then, there had been no news.  Nothing.  Elrohir seemed to have vanished into thin air._

Since then, Elladan had also departed, in search of his twin.  And still there had been no news, no word.

****

Elrond abandoned the pretence of reading, of working; and paced his study, crossing frequently to the windows which overlooked the length of the valley and the track from the ford.   He was tense with anticipation.  Something, some deep-rooted instinct, told him that today would be the day that there was news.  How or why he knew that, he could not say, but he found himself back at the window, watching the path again.  Perhaps they were riding home even now, Elladan and Elrohir in the lead, racing each other, arguing over who would reach the steps first, while Legolas and Bereth trailed behind, content to leave the twins to their self imposed challenge.

There had been no news, no message, nothing, not since Elladan and Legolas had left to search for Elrohir.  But they would be at least nine days behind Elrohir and Bereth, and by his reckoning they should have reached Tarlong some four days ago.  He prayed that they had found some trace of the – _what was that_?  His thoughts broke off as he caught a glimpse of movement, far below, on the road to Imladris.  Two riders – but not either of the twins.   Instead, what he saw chilled him with dread.  Two unfamiliar men, guards from the look of them, rode slowly towards Imladris.  Even at this distance he could see the crest of Tarlong on their tunics.  And behind them – behind them they drew a litter, bearing a covered figure.  

_Elrohir_.

Then the men were gone again, hidden from view once more by the trees.  Numb with fear, he raced through the halls to the courtyard, and along the path to intercept the men.   He was met by one of his own guards from the patrol guarding the ford, running ahead to meet him.  The guard made a hasty salute, then stepped full into Elrond's path, forcing him to stop.  "Lord Elrond!  There is news – but first I must tell you one thing.  _This is not Lord Elrohir.  It is not either of your sons."_

Elrond released a breath he had not been aware of holding.  _Thank the Valar.  "Not – but then who – "  he began disjointedly.   Who was it?   Legolas?  Please, no!  Thranduil, he knew, could not bear another loss.  Bereth?  _

"Bereth," confirmed the border guard, after a quick glance to ensure that none could overhear.   "These men say they have a message for you, but they will not discuss it with anyone else.  But they let me see who it was they brought here."

One of the men spoke up, interrupting the unintelligible conversation.  "I have a message for Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían of Imladris.  Would you take us to them, please?"  He looked, and sounded, rather nervous.  It could be a dangerous task, being the bearer of bad news.

"I am Elrond," the lord replied, switching to Westron.  "What is your message?"

"A letter," said the man, removing it from a bag on his saddle and passing it to Elrond.   "From Elladan.  He asked that we escort the dead, and carry a message for him."

Elrond broke the seal on the letter, and read it swiftly.  If it contained bad news, he wanted to know before he gave the letter to Celebrían.   The very first sentence told Elrond the most important news of all, but it was not what he wanted to hear.  They had found no trace of Elrohir at all.  Elladan described what he knew of Bereth's death,  and asked his father to explain the circumstances to Bereth's family.   He went on to describe the progress of the plague, and how it was affecting the communities along the Bruinen.  Finally, he told of his journey south to Tarlong, and admitted that he had no idea what had happened to Elrohir.  Elladan's deep despair over his brother's fate came through painfully clearly from the letter.

Elrond came to the end of the letter, and with a deep sigh, folded it again.  It did not contain the answers he had hoped for.  It did not contain any answers at all. Behind him he heard a sudden commotion, a gasp of fear and an anguished cry.  "_No!"   Celebrían, drawn by the same awareness that had alerted him, had appeared, her eyes fixed on the covered litter.  _

He turned to her, holding her, whispering fiercely in reassurance.  "It is not either of the boys!  But there is still no news of Elrohir.  This is Bereth."  She sagged against him in relief, then straightened immediately, once again the Lady of Imladris.  Over her shoulder he caught the gaze of one of the other guards, also drawn by the commotion.  He stared fixedly at the covered figure, his face ashen.  Elrond went to him and drew him gently to one side.  "Beregar?  I am so very sorry.  Your brother is dead.  Come with me, I will break the news to your parents."

As he left with the young guard, Elrond turned to the border guard.  "Will you find Erestor, please?  Ask him – ask  him to meet me. After I have spoken to Bereth's family."

The meeting with Bereth's family was hard.  Elrond tried to explain to his parents, brother, and sister what had occurred, but it was difficult, so very difficult.  They were numb with grief and shock, and totally bewildered.  There was so little he knew; so little Elladan had been able to tell him.  And all the while, he was hiding his own fear and worry, until Bereth's mother spoke as he was leaving.  "But Lord Elrond – what of your own son?  They left here together – what news is there of Lord Elrohir?"

Suddenly he was no longer the lord of these people, comforting them in their grief, but just a desperately worried father. "There is no news," Elrond admitted.  "I have no idea where he is.  Elladan is still trying to trace him."

It was late by the time he left Bereth's home and returned to his own chambers.  He desperately needed the solace of his wife's comfort and support – but she was not there.  Going in search of her, Glorfindel told him that he had seen her near the twin's rooms.  Heading in that direction, Elrond went first to Elrohir's room, and opened the door silently.  The room was in darkness, lit only by starlight from the window.  Celebrían sat on Elrohir's bed, clutching one of his discarded shirts tightly.  She was not crying, but her hopeless despair was somehow far worse.

"Where is he, do you think?" she asked, without looking up.  "What has happened to him?  Do you think he is dead?"   Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Elrond, I cannot bear the thought that we may never see him again."  Tears finally began to fall, and she wept helplessly as Elrond held her tightly.  "I miss him.  I miss him so," she sobbed.

"I know.  I know.  So do I.  But – we must still have hope."  His own tears mingled with hers as he sought for words.  "We cannot give up.  For our own sake, for Elladan, for Elrohir himself. We must trust in him.  We must trust in his courage, his skill, and his luck."

Against his chest, Celebrían nodded.  "Yes.  I know.  And I do.  But what about Elladan?  How must this be affecting him?  What if Elrohir _is dead?  I do not think I could bear it – we could lose them both."    _

Elrond was silent, stroking her hair softly.  He had to cling to whatever faint hope there was, but it was hard.  Elladan's letter had explained the few stark facts he knew. That Elrohir and Bereth had left Withypool together, heading for Tarlong.  That Bereth had been found dead a few days later.  That there was no sign at all of Elrohir.  Was he wrong to hope?  Perhaps he was being foolish.  Perhaps it would be better to be realistic, to face the possibility – no, the _probability_ that his beloved son was dead.  

The sound of a single voice, lifted in a lament, drifted in through the open window.  After the first few haunting bars a handful of other voices joined in, and were gradually joined by several more.  The first singers would be Bereth's family, then his friends and fellow healers.  The laments and songs of mourning would continue through the night, until the stars faded, and would be followed by the burial.  Elrond knew he would have to be there for that.  But he found himself wondering.  Would the next  songs and prayers be sung for _his son?  Would he lead the laments that would plunge the whole of Imladris into mourning?_

Pain knifed through him as he remembered Elrohir's smile, so infectious it could brighten the dullest day; his sudden laughter as he teased his brother or sister; his unexpected, unyielding stubbornness.  The interminable way the twins bickered endlessly, driving their parents, and all around them, to distraction.  The way they would _still speak simultaneously, or finish the other's sentence.  There was so much to remember.  _

He had survived the death of his own twin, although it had all but destroyed him, but in truth, the bond between him and Elros had been sundered long before that by their choices.  His sons were much closer, their link much stronger.  How would Elladan be able to cope?  What would he do?  Like Celebrían, he knew he could not face losing them both.

At length Celebrían stirred against him, and he stood, helping her to her feet.  "Come," he told her.  "Come to bed.  We cannot stay here all night.  We have no need to."

"No.  I thought I would feel closer to him here, but it makes no difference.  I can feel him everywhere, throughout the house and the valley, but he seems so far away."  She hesitated again.  "He – he _will_ come home again.  I have to believe that."

"Yes.  Hold to that belief.  Cel,  I have been thinking.  I think we should send word to Arwen."  

Celebrían nodded in agreement.  "I already have.  I wrote to her this evening, the letter is still on my desk.  She should be here.  She will have no idea of what has happened.  And it will be a comfort to have her home."  She sighed deeply.  "I wish I had my mother's gift.  Then perhaps I would know where he is, what happened to him."

"No.  It is an unchancy gift, you know that, with no way of telling what is true and what is not.  Of what may already have come to pass, and what may never happen. It would just torment you.  It is not a gift I would wish on any."

They left Elrohir's room together, and Elrond quietly closed the door, shutting out the soft strains of singing that still filled the night.  Celebrían still clutched the shirt to her chest tightly.  Slowly they climbed the stairs to their own rooms, to spend the night waiting sleeplessly, waiting for dawn, waiting for what news the new day may bring.

**To be continued**


	13. Homecoming

**Chapter Thirteen – Homecoming**

****

The return journey to Imladris was far easier than travelling south had been.   The heavy rains that had battered Elrohir and Bereth, turning the paths to mud baths, had eased some days before, and the land had dried.  The river was no longer in spate, and flowed swiftly, tranquilly past them.

As the day progressed, Elladan rode in a haze of increasing discomfort.  Elrohir had found a sling in one of the bags to support his injured arm and prevent further damage.  But the paralysis had grown worse, and he could now not move his hand at all.  However the numbness in his hand and arm was fading, and had been replaced by a tingling sensation, similar to pins and needles, but much more intense.  A creeping lethargy spread throughout his limbs, and he was feeling increasingly light-headed.  He recognised the symptoms with a sinking feeling.  The wound was poisoned, and it was spreading.  He forced himself to stay upright on Balan, trying not to reveal quite how disorientated he felt.  Elrohir would only worry.

With his free hand, he felt behind him in his pack for a spare cloak.  The day seemed to have turned bitterly cold, and he was shivering.  Wrapping the cloak around himself, he felt a little better.  But now the tingling in his arm had changed to a steadily growing burning feeling.  It grew gradually more and more acute, until every tiny movement, every jolt Balan made, caused a wave of agony to flare through him.  It felt as if his hand and arm had been dipped in molten fire.

Grimly, he rode on.  It would do no good to call a halt, the sooner they all reached Imladris the better.  Without knowing what this poison was, without adequate supplies, this injury was beyond his skill to heal, or Elrohir's.

Noticing that Elladan did not appear to be paying particular attention to them, Elrohir drew back a little, motioning Legolas to join him.  The unexpected severity of Elladan's injury had shaken him, but that was not his only concern.  "Legolas?  There is something wrong with El.  I do not mean this injury, but something else.  In the last few days he has been – distant.  I wondered if you knew why.  Did something happen on your journey?  Has something happened at home, that he is not telling me about?"

Legolas wondered how to answer.  He knew what was worrying Elladan, and disagreed with his reasons for not sharing his concerns with Elrohir.  But he had promised Elladan not to say anything.  Instead, he asked a question of his own.  "When did you first notice something wrong?"

"Since Barlynch.  Not that first day, I was just so glad to see El; and I was so tired then, anyway.  But after that.  I know there is something he is hiding, some secret.  I have _tried to talk to him, but he denies there is anything wrong!"_

Legolas sought for the right words, words that would reassure Elrohir but not betray Elladan's confidence.  "Well – when we were searching for you, he was naturally worried.  We had no idea what had happened.  Then, we found out that Bereth was dead.  We thought the worst.  You know how protective Elladan can be!  He is just worried, Elrohir."

"So there is nothing wrong at Imladris?  My mother and father?  Arwen?  Are they well?"

"_Yes_!  Elrohir, have no fears there.  They are safe and well, all of them, as far as I know! Arwen was still in Lórien when we left."  On this matter, at least, he could reassure his friend.

Elrohir was silent, and for a moment, Legolas hoped he had accepted the explanation.  But it was not to be.  

"You know what the matter is,"  Elrohir stated flatly.  "And he asked you not to say anything, I suppose?  Does he really think I am such a fool as to not notice how worried he is?  How distracted he has been?"  He did not push the matter any further.  He knew Legolas would not betray a confidence, and did not expect him to.  But it hurt that Elladan had confided in the prince, but not his twin.

"I can tell you one thing.  I think Elladan is worrying over nothing.  But you should be having this conversation with him, not me!"

"Oh, have no fears there,"  Elrohir sounded grim.  "I intend to!"  With an abrupt movement, he moved his horse forward, drawing level with his brother.  "Elladan?  Elladan!  Do you ever intend to tell me what you are so concerned about, or do I have to work it out for myself?  Well?"

Elladan made no response at first, until Elrohir called his name again.  Then he looked up with a start.  "El?  Did you say something?"

"Yes, I did!" snapped Elrohir.  "And – " Then he saw clearly Elladan's pallor, and the lines of pain on his face.  "And it can wait," he finished.  "El, talk to me.  How bad is your arm?"

Elladan shifted his arm within the sling, in an attempt to ease the discomfort.  "Elrohir, there is no need to fuss!  I will be fine."

"Aye, I know you will.  But humour me, yes?  Now, tell me where it hurts."  He spoke in deliberate mimicry of their mother, as she soothed away the cuts and grazes of childhood.  

The tactic worked, and won a genuine smile from Elladan, the first all that day.  "Are you going to kiss it better as well?" he asked with a grin.

Elrohir shook his head emphatically.  "No, definitely not!" he declared.  "But El, you look terrible.  I want you to tell me everything you can.  If you pass out, I can at least tell father what to look for."

Elladan blinked once or twice to clear his blurred vision, then nodded wearily.  He knew he would have no peace until he told Elrohir everything, and suddenly realised that he did not have the energy to argue.  "Very well.  You win.  I cannot move my hand at all now, nor my fingers.  But the numbness has gone.  It hurts.  You remember when I scalded my hand when we were little?"

Elrohir flinched in remembered sympathy.  "As bad as that?"

"No. Worse."  He shivered again, pulling the cloak closer.

"El?  Are you cold?"

"Well, of course I am!  The weather has become bitterly cold today.  Do you not feel it?"

Elrohir shook his head.  "Not really."  In truth, the day was a very mild, fine day for late autumn.  A weak sun warmed him as it shone on his back.  "Let me see."  He reached out and placed the back of his hand on Elladan's forehead.  As he had suspected, it felt hot to the touch.  "El, you have a temperature.  Is there anything else you have forgotten to tell me?"

Elladan sighed as he admitted defeat, closing his eyes wearily, and reciting the list of his ills.  "I cannot move my hand.  My arm feels as though it is on fire.  I can barely keep my eyes open, I feel so exhausted.  I cannot stop shivering."  He swayed a little as a wave of giddiness swept over him.  "And I feel dizzy and light-headed," he finished.  He opened his eyes again to find Elrohir gazing at him in concern.  "And yes, I know as well as you do what it means."

"Then the sooner we get home the better.  We keep going," Elrohir decided.  

They made just one stop that day, in the late afternoon, to rest the horses, drink, and eat the pastries which Marla had given them that morning.  Elrohir also wanted to examine Elladan's arm again, before the light failed.

Legolas dismounted, stretching wearily, and flexing his leg stiffly.  The deep arrow wound was healing well, but his thigh still pained him at times.  At least he could be sure that the wound was not poisoned.  The four horses gathered around him, and he whispered to them, explaining the necessity for the long ride, and that they would continue through the night.  Then he turned them loose to drink and graze.

Elrohir held his brother's good arm as he came off Balan's back, and eased him down onto the ground.  Then he knelt at his side, removing the sling and the bandages.  Very gently, he looked at the cut, noticing that Elladan flinched at the slightest touch.  In the end, he rebandaged it, and replaced the sling.  "I wish there was more I could do," he sighed.  "But there is still very little to see, and the only medicines we still have left is a few _peles leaves.  That would help the pain, but dull your senses too much.  But we will be home in a few hours."  _

After they had rested for a half hour or so, they got to their feet, ready to continue the long ride.  As he stood, ready to remount Balan, Elladan stumbled on the uneven ground, jarring his arm against the horse.  He gave a gasp of pain, and hunched over the injury, clutching it to his chest.  

Elrohir was at his side in moments, supporting him, helping him to mount.  "Careful, El.  There is not much further to go, now.  A few more hours, that is all."  

They set off again, and Elrohir rode close to his brother's side, keeping a close eye on him.  At times Elladan's head drooped down and he swayed forward over Balan's neck.  At last Elrohir stopped both their horses, and dropped to the ground.

"Legolas, can you look after Bereth's horse _and mine?  I think I should ride with El."  He jumped up onto Balan, seating himself behind Elladan, and placed his arms around his brother.  "Lean back against me, El.  I will not let you fall," he murmured.  Elladan's only response was a grunt.  He would have liked nothing better than to stop, to halt this unending ride, and to lie on the ground, cradling his arm, free of the incessant jolting that jarred unmercifully, and to sleep, drugged with __peles if necessary, far from pain and torment.  But he knew it could not be, and his pride would not allow him to suggest it.  _

He could endure this if he had to, and the beacon of home danced in his mind; the comfort; the warmth and security; the soft beds; the gentle, loving words of his mother; and his father's healing touch.  Soon.  They would be home soon, and then he could rest.

Legolas watched the twins as they talked quietly, reflecting on all that had occurred since he had left Imladris.  Elladan's worries and fears for his brother had been proved unnecessary, and now it was Elrohir's turn to be concerned.  He hoped these latest worries would prove to be equally groundless.

They rode on through the night, drawing nearer and nearer to sanctuary.  Gradually the sky lightened as dawn broke, and Legolas saw landmarks he was familiar with, and knew they were close to Imladris.  He listened idly as Elrohir began to point them out to his brother.

"Do you see, El?  We are nearly home now.  It is not much further.  Soon we will be at the ford, then in the valley itself.  Do you think the guards will have seen us?  Do they know we are on our way?"  Elrohir knew he was talking to himself.  Elladan had become more and more unresponsive over the last hour or so of their journey, although he had tried hard to keep him awake and aware.  He knew that Elladan had tried to stay coherent, but he had just lost the battle to remain conscious, falling back limply against his twin.  Elrohir shifted his position slightly, and rested Elladan's head against his shoulder.  He could feel the heat radiating from Elladan, and even unconscious he shivered slightly. He was clearly burning with fever.  "Try to stay awake, El, stay with me.  Soon you will be able to rest."  

At the ford, the first of the border guards appeared, amazed and delighted at the return of the three travellers.  "Lord Elrohir, it is a joy to us to see you return!  Imladris has been a sad and melancholy place of late."

Elrohir looked at the guard sharply.  "Sad?  Why?  Eilenach, what has happened?"

"Why, Bereth is dead.  Did you not know?  He was returned to us a few days ago.  And since the news of his fall, your lord father and lady mother – they have feared the worst."

Elrohir stared at the guard, thunderstruck.  He had not forgotten, would never forget, Bereth's death, but somehow he had never considered the effect the news would have on his own parents.  It had not occurred to him that they might believe that he, too, was dead.  "Eilenach, will you send a messenger ahead, to tell of our arrival?  Find my parents, wake them if need be."  It was not long past dawn, they would probably still be abed.  "And warn my father that Elladan is hurt.  He will need treatment."

Eilenach saluted crisply.  "Yes, my lord!"  His smile faded slightly as he looked at Elladan.  His eyes were closed, and he leaned against Elrohir, oblivious to his surroundings.  "I will go myself, and alert the healers."

They crossed the ford, and were soon on long-familiar paths.  The horses quickened their pace, knowing they too were home, and the long journey was nearly ended.  Finally they rode beneath the archway into the courtyard.  Elrond was there, and Celebrían, Glorfindel and Erestor, and several healers.  It seemed Eilenach had done his job well, and roused half the house.  Elrond and Glorfindel together took Elladan from Elrohir's arms, and Elrond held him gently, issuing a stream of orders to the other healers.  

As Elrohir also dismounted, Celebrían hugged him tightly, holding him close.  Her eyes brimmed with tears.  "I am so glad you are safe, I was so worried for you.  But Elladan …"

Elrohir leaned down and kissed her cheek.  "I am well, mother.  And El will be as well, now that father can see to him."  He spoke with more confidence than he felt. He had every faith in his father's abilities as a healer, but this poison was one outside his experience.  "Shall we go with them?"  With one arm around his mother's shoulders, they followed Elrond towards the infirmary.

Legolas followed the group, deep in thought.  It was a relief to be back at Imladris, but he wondered if all their troubles were over.  Suddenly the conversation he had had with Elladan after they had arrived at Barlynch came back to him, when Elladan had confessed to him the recurring vision he _still_ had of Elrohir, crying out for him.  Elladan's words came back to him with a worrying clarity.  _"I cannot see myself there anywhere.  And why am I unable to help him, to comfort him?  Why does El call for me so hopelessly?  Legolas, where am I in this future?"   Just how bad __was Elladan's injury?_

**To be continued**


	14. Memories And Nightmares

**Chapter Fourteen – Memories and Nightmares**

****

****

When they reached the infirmary, Elrond went to one of the small rooms that adjoined it, gently placing Elladan on the bed.  He began to examine his son carefully, questioning Elrohir about how Elladan had been affected, as he attempted to assess the spread of the poison.  His face grew grave as Elrohir described the initial numbness and paralysis, then the increasing agony Elladan had endured.  "Father, he was nearly crying with pain,"  Elrohir finished.  "In the end I gave him the last of the _peles leaves we had, but it had no effect."_

Elladan gave a fain moan as his father lifted his arm, turning it slightly.  Even unconscious, he tried to pull away from the contact, and Elrond stopped.  "This reminds me of something," he mused.  "Something I read about long ago."  He closed his eyes, trying to remember.  "A scroll," he recalled.  "A scroll about the creatures of Harad.  Something about a spider … Elrohir, would you go and look in the library?  You will probably be able to find it more quickly than anyone else."

Reluctantly, Elrohir nodded.  With a last long look at his brother, he turned and hurried from the room, running down the stairs two at a time.  In Elrond's library, he carefully lit a lamp, casting a warm glow over the shelves and cupboards that covered every wall from floor to ceiling.  Then he began searching through the scrolls that filled two rows of shelving.  They were carefully organised; he had helped to catalogue them himself, and he thought he knew the scroll his father was referring to.  Locating the section that contained works about distant lands, he pulled out an armload and carried them across to the heavy wooden table that stood in the centre of the floor.  Instinctively handling the manuscripts – some of which were ancient – with great care, he opened one after the other, skimming the contents before carefully rolling the document again and moving on.   His first search proved fruitless, and muttering in exasperation, he returned all the scrolls to their shelf, and tried again.  

This time he struck lucky.  The second scroll he opened was entitled 'Mythical and Mystical Beasts of Near and Far Harad' and was illustrated with delicate pictures of creatures such as unicorns, griffons and mumakil.  The mumak, he was fairly sure, did in fact exist, but he believed the others were indeed imaginary.  The third scroll was the one he was searching for.  'Venomous and Malevolent Flora and Fauna in the Lands of the Haradrim and the Treatment Thereof.'  _The treatment thereof.  Could there be a clue in here to help Elladan?  Hastily replacing everything, he extinguished the lamp, and returned to the infirmary, taking the scroll with him._

As Elrohir departed, Elrond turned back to Elladan.  He twisted and turned restlessly, and Elrond knew he would have to send him into a deeper sleep to be able to do what he knew would be necessary.  He lifted his son slightly, touching his face and calling to him.  "Elladan?  Elladan, awake now.  Just for a moment, then you can sleep again without pain.  Wake up now."

Slowly, Elladan returned to a greater consciousness, aware of the excruciating pain in his arm and hand, and a familiar, beloved voice calling him.  He tried desperately to concentrate on the voice alone, and to drown out all other sensations.  "Father?" 

"Yes.  Wake now.  I want you to drink this."  

Slowly Elladan opened his eyes, and tried to focus on the blur looming above him.  Gradually he was able to distinguish a face, one that matched the voice.  His father was gazing at him in concern.  "Elladan, drink this.  It will help the pain."  A small bottle was held to his mouth, and he swallowed obediently, grimacing at the sickly sweet taste.

"Father, my arms hurts."

"I know.  But this will help."  He could hear love and concern in Elrond's voice, and something else.  Fear?  Of what?

Elladan swallowed the last of the medicine.  "Poppy?"  It was one of the most powerful drugs used in the infirmary, and worked almost immediately.

"Aye, just a little."

Elladan shifted his gaze from his father, his eyes sliding around the room.  His mother sat on the other side of the bed, and he smiled at her, moving his right hand towards her slightly.  He could see Legolas near the window, and whispered his name.  Then he looked again.  His father.  His mother.  Legolas.  

There was one face missing.  Fighting the seductive lure of the poppy, he tried to turn his head to see further.  "Where …" he began.  Against his will, his eyes were closing, and his voice faded.

"Hush.  You are safe now, at Imladris.  In the infirmary.  You are home now."

Frustrated, he shook his head.  That was not what he had meant.  But it was too late now, and he only had time to acknowledge the cessation of pain before he began to sink into darkness and oblivion claimed him.  But the question he had not been able to ask remained in his mind, filling his dreams.  _Where was Elrohir?_

Desperately, he tried to recall what had happened, how he came to be in the infirmary.  His own pain, the grim and grave expressions all around him told their own story, and he knew he must have been very seriously wounded.  But how?  He tried to piece together what he did know.  That overriding question - where was Elrohir -  was what had driven him from Imladris, and Legolas had gone with him. They were clearly back there now, but what had happened in between?  Why could he not remember?  

His head swam with a swirling kaleidoscope of images and memories, but they made no sense.  There was a man, pointing a crossbow at him. There was a village, silent and deserted, and a house where all the people were dead.  He and Legolas picked their way along a riverbank slick with mud, and with a cry of fear Legolas plunged into the raging water.  There was a young girl, running to greet him, calling to him.  Calling him … _calling him Elrohir_.  Did she hold the secret to his brother's disappearance?  Who was she?  He tried to put a name to her.  Marla?  Somehow it did not seem right.  The whirl of pictures continued to dance through his memory.  He could see Legolas' face across a camp fire.  It was so vivid he could taste and smell roasted rabbit.  He saw again the man with the crossbow, and saw how his hands shook with fear.  The little girl was there again, this time seated on the lap of an older woman.  Her mother?

Desperately, he tried to push his recollections onward.  What had happened after that?  Why could he not _remember?  A new memory came to him, dusk, a large town, its gates about to close for the night.  A guard, looking wary and suspicious.  He saw a long room, another man approaching him from the far end, his face full of sympathy.  He extended his hand, and dropped something into Elladan's palm.  Mesmerised, Elladan stared at it uncomprehendingly, his eyes tracing the patterns and writing, the insignia.  As if from a great distance, he heard the man's voice again.  'He carried this.  He had been dead for several days.'_

The twisting vortex of images suddenly stopped.  No.  That could not be right.  The man spoke again.  '_He had been dead for several days.'  No.  Not Elrohir.  It was impossible._

But was it impossible?   It explained everything.  It explained why both his parents were at his bedside.  It explained why Legolas was there, looking so concerned.  It explained the fear and grief he had heard in his father's voice.

It explained why Elrohir was not there.

The memories were true, all of them, he could feel it.  And that meant that Elrohir was dead.

He caught his breath, desperately trying to deny what he now knew to be true.  Elrohir was dead.  A scream built up in his chest, a cry of utter desolation, grief and horror, and exploded from him before he plunged into an abyss of blackness and despair.  "_ELROHIR_!  _No_!"

The three in the room were catapulted to their feet in shock. As Elrohir re-entered the room, he halted at the sound of that desperate cry, and by the sight of his brother twisting desperately in anguish, frantic to escape from some horror.  Swiftly crossing the room, he suddenly stopped, caught by the strangest sensation that he had seen this before, had done this before.  It was nonsense, he knew that.  Never in his life had he seen Elladan so distraught, and never had he heard his own name called out in such terror.  Regaining his equilibrium, he reached the bed, and sat on the edge, passing the scroll blindly to his father.  

"El?  What is it?"  He placed both hands on his brother's face, calling to him. "What happened?" he asked tersely.

Elrond shook his head.  "I do not know," he admitted.  "He regained consciousness for a moment, and seemed to know where he was. At least, I thought he did.   He recognised me, your mother, and Legolas.  I was able to give him some of the poppy juice. Then he seemed to be searching for something.  The poppy took effect before I could ask him what it was he was looking for.  He was a little restless for a while. Then – then this happened."  He seemed shaken by his son's reaction.

Between them, Elladan tossed and turned, moaning slightly.  A cry escaped from him, an incoherent groan, full of despair, in which occasional words could be distinguished.  "El – oh, no, El – please, no!  El, where are you?  It cannot be true.  EL!"  Elrohir took Elladan's right hand between his, and began to murmur to him softly and reassuringly, but Elladan's desperate cries continued.

At the window, Legolas turned suddenly, looking at Elladan as if he had never seen him before.  "I know what this is," he said suddenly.  "Elladan foresaw this, in one of his visions."

Both Elrond and Elrohir looked up at him, startled.  "What do you mean, he foresaw it?"  asked Elrohir.  "_What_ visions?"

Briefly, as rapidly as possible, Legolas tried to explain.  "When we were travelling together, Elladan kept having recurring nightmares and waking dreams.  He dreamed of your death, Elrohir, that you were deathly ill.  And I dismissed it, all of it, taking it as his natural concern!  Then, when we found you at Barlynch, it was exactly as he had foreseen.  He told me as well that he had seen you, like this, here, crying for him.  He thought it foretold his death, but feared only what it would do to you.  And _that_ is why he has been so withdrawn and distant.  He did not want you to fear for him!"  Legolas paused, looking down at his friend sadly.  "He was wrong.  It was never you he saw, Elrohir, it was himself."

Elrohir did not take his eyes from his twin, and brushed a strand of damp hair away from his face with a hand that shook a little.  "El, do not fear.  I am here," he whispered.  This explained much of Elladan's odd behaviour.  

But for Elrond, there was still one thing he could not understand.   "What, though, does he still fear?  Why does he cry out for you, Elrohir?  Why does he feel such desperate sorrow?"

Elrohir looked up at his parents, although he did not release Elladan's hand.  "Because when El and Legolas first got to Tarlong, and were told that an elf had been found dead, they were told it was me.  El thought I was dead."

At the window, Legolas nodded his sober agreement.  "Elladan was devastated.  We both were, but Elladan …  And then, later, we realised that there was some doubt.  Elladan had to question the guards to try to establish who it was they had found."

Celebrían had not spoken so far.  Now she looked down at both her sons, placing her hands on their heads, gently stroking their hair.  "So if Elladan is reliving that moment – Elrohir,  you have to tell him!"

Elladan continued to thrash wildly.  A tear ran from one eye and he called again to his twin, lost in a nightmare of memories.

**To be continued**


	15. Athela and Aeluin

**Chapter Fifteen – Athela and Aeluin**

As Elrohir continued to talk to his brother, softly reassuring him, Elladan gradually grew calmer, and his restless movements stilled.  Elrohir could not tell whether it was because Elladan was beginning to accept his presence, or because he was falling deeper into a drugged sleep.  He feared it was only the latter, as Elladan's eyes still flickered although they remained closed, and his breathing was still ragged.  He was clearly still distressed.  

Relentlessly, Elrohir continued, desperate to reach his twin.  "El, if you can hear me, listen to me.  I know what they told you at Tarlong, but they were wrong.  Is that what you are thinking of?  I am here, I am alive, I am by your side.  Can you remember Barlynch?  We had such an argument.  El, I am so sorry for what I said then.  But you forgave me.  Can you remember that?"  He gazed at his twin, wondering if Elladan could hear any of this, or if he was wasting his breath.  But no, he reminded himself.  If there was any chance at all, it was not a waste.

Behind him, Elrond was studying the scroll Elrohir had found in the library.  Amongst the 'venomous and malevolent' fauna listed, there was a spider.  His heart sank.  It was as he had feared.  This was the creature he had vaguely remembered learning of in his studies of distant lands.  Its bite caused an initial numbness, so the victim did not even realise they had been bitten.  It masked the damage caused as the toxin then destroyed the surrounding flesh, eating away at skin and muscle and sensation, eventually causing intense pain.  And if the Haradrim _had_ managed to develop an antidote, it was too far away to be of any benefit to Elladan. 

There was one faint chance, one who may know of something similar. "Legolas, do you know anything of this?"  Legolas, after all, had first hand knowledge of deadly spiders.

Legolas read the document over Elrond's shoulder, but then shook his head.  "No.  This is not like the spiders we have in the Greenwood.   The numbness it describes – I was bitten once; I knew immediately what had happened.  Numbness would have been a relief."  He had never forgotten the shuddering, wracking pain that had engulfed his entire body.

"Aye, I remember.  You were bitten twice, as I recall," Elrond said softly.  He had been in Lasgalen at the time, and he and Calmacil had both despaired, admitting to Thranduil that there was nothing more they could do.  Legolas had survived, against all expectations.  But that was ancient history now.  "It is as I thought – this poison on a weapon is something new.  It is an evil substance; the numbness masks the damage it is causing.  At least one of the outlaws who attacked you must have had knowledge of this."  

"One of them – no, two I think," Elrohir amended.  "They had a look of the Haradrim about them.  They could have brought it with them.  But Father, the scroll said 'The treatment thereof' – what does it say about this?  What can we do for El?"

"I do not know yet," Elrond replied, still reading.   "But I think there is only one solution – the damaged flesh will not recover, it will have to be removed."

Elrohir looked up, utterly shocked.  "You – you mean his arm?"  he asked in a horrified whisper.  "Father, no!  You cannot!"

"Hush!  I hope it will not come to that," Elrond reassured him.  "I mean here."  He took Elladan's wrist, turning it slightly to expose the forearm, and running one finger along the cut, as Elrohir had done himself.  The edges of the wound were swollen and discoloured, and still oozed a thick, blackish discharge.  This time, Elladan did not react or try to pull away from the gentle touch, held in the thrall of the poppy syrup.  "I can treat his arm,"  Elrond continued, "but I think only you, Elrohir, can heal his other wounds.  You have to convince him you are alive.  If you cannot …"  He did not complete the thought.  If Elrohir could not reach his brother, Elladan might never awaken.  He could sink into despair and fade in his grief.

Elrond decided it would be best to act immediately.  There was no point in delaying, and the poison would only cause more damage.   Legolas watched, fascinated for a few moments, as Elrond and Elrohir moved in a practiced dance around the room, collecting the equipment and supplies they would need, before he and Celebrían were shooed unceremoniously from the room.

"Elrond will not have anyone who is not strictly necessary present when he is working," Celebrían explained.  "That means us."  She looked strained and tired.  The relief of Elrohir's homecoming had immediately been replaced by new fears and worries.

"Then will you sit with me, Lady Celebrían?  I can tell you of our travels.  Elladan and I had several adventures of our own before we found Elrohir!"  Legolas spoke lightly, but neither were fooled.  The waiting would be hard on them both.  "And Elrohir has captured the hearts of at least two more maidens!" he added with a smile.

Celebrían looked at him gratefully.  "Thank you, Legolas," she said quietly.  "Only two?  He must be slipping.  But yes, please tell me of your journey."

In the room where Elladan lay, all was ready.  Elrond looked at Elrohir appraisingly.  "Are you sure about this?  Or do you want to join your mother and Legolas outside? I can ask someone else to help me if you wish."

Elrohir shook his head.  "No.  I could not bear the waiting.  This will be easier."  Despite his resolve, he could not help flinching slightly as Elrond made a deep cut in Elladan's arm.  Bright blood flowed from the incision, tinged with darkness.  But Elladan was far beyond the reach of pain, deep in a drugged sleep.  Catching his father's concerned gaze, Elrohir repeated steadily, "I can do this."  He had helped his father as they worked together on a patient many times before.  The fact that this time it was his brother should make no difference.  He dabbed carefully at the blood where it trickled down his brother's arm and onto the towels wadded beneath, then returned one hand to Elladan's wrist, to monitor the pulse there.

By the time Elrond had finished his ministrations, the original shallow cut was both longer and much deeper.  But all the darkened, decayed flesh had finally been removed, and the blood that continued to well from the wound was untainted.  At last Elrond stepped away.  He straightened with a weary sigh, and brushed a wayward strand of hair away from his eyes, leaving a smear of his son's blood on his face.  "Well, I have done all I can for now.  His arm should heal."  He watched as Elrohir placed the last few stitches in his brother's arm to hold the cut closed, studying them both.

 At _last both his sons were home.  But one still balanced on a knife-edge between recovery or succumbing to his grief. The other he had all but given up for dead; he could admit that to himself now.  "Elrohir?  Come here,"  he asked quietly._

Elrohir looked up as he finished his task.  He was tired, weary, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion and worry.  As he stood back from Elladan's side, Elrond caught him in a tight embrace, simply holding him.  "Oh, my son," he murmured.  "How we feared for your safety.   When we learned of Bereth's death, we thought you must surely have perished too."

"Yes.  I know that now.  And El was told the same thing.  I cannot imagine how it would have affected him.  I am so sorry.  If I had thought for a moment … oh, father, I wish none of this had happened!"

Elrond took one step back, holding Elrohir at arm's length, and looked at him carefully.  "What _did happen to you?  And how did you and Bereth become separated?"  He raised one hand, lightly touching the dark bruise that still marked his son's forehead.  "What is this?"_

Elrohir looked at his father, slightly puzzled.  He had all but forgotten the wound he had received when the horse kicked him, but when he raised his hand to the deep gash, it still felt rather tender.  

"Oh. That.  It is nothing; there is no need to worry.  A horse kicked me when we were attacked by bandits.  And the rest of it – it is a long story."

"A _horse_?  I can see there is a great deal you need to tell me.  Perhaps it should wait until your mother rejoins us.  "But first," Elrond added.  "I would like you to have that cut looked at."  

"There is no need!  It is minor; nothing to worry about.  I would rather stay here with El."

"Elrohir!  I wish that just for once in your life you would listen to me!"  Elrond snapped.  The strain of the last few days; the last few hours, was evident in his voice.  He added wearily, "Please, do not argue.  Just – just do as I ask.  Go and see one of the healers.  Elrohir, I do not want to have to _still_ worry about you."

Elrohir opened his mouth to argue further, but then caught sight of his father's expression.  Reluctantly, he nodded.  "Yes, very well."  He looked again at Elladan, pale and still on the bed.  "But will you …"

"Aye, I will stay with him.  Do you not trust me?"    A hint of mischief crept into Elrond's voice as he added, by way of inducement, "I think Athela is on duty at the moment."

"Athela?"  Elrohir had imagined himself in love with her once, long ago – they both had.  The infatuation had fizzled out, as all such obsessions tended to, but they had remained good friends.

He found Athela in one of the adjoining rooms.  She looked up with a smile, then seated him and became very business like.  "How did you get this?" she queried, touching the curving gash lightly.

"We were ambushed, attacked by outlaws. I was kicked by a horse."

"Yes.  I can see the shape of the hoof."  She traced the outline of the imprint very gently with her fingertips, noticing how he flinched slightly at her touch.  "Did you lose consciousness?"

"Yes, but only briefly."

"How long for?"  As he hesitated, she repeated, "Elrohir, how long?"

He sighed.  "About two hours, I think."

She gave him a hard stare.  "You call that briefly?  What about later?  Did you experience any sickness or dizziness?  Any confusion?"

"I felt nauseous and very dizzy, but was not physically sick."  Although it had been a very close thing, he recalled.  "It had passed by the next morning."

"I see.  Was there anything else?  Headache?  What about your eyesight?  Was there any blurring of your vision?"

Elrohir shook his head.  "No.  Yes.  A severe headache, but that too eased.  But I could see clearly, and El – Elladan said my eyes looked normal.  Athela, I know what a concussion feels like.  And I would not take any risks with a head injury."

She took his face between both hands, and peered at him intently.  "No, I know you would not.  But you know as well as I do that sometimes with a severe injury the victim is the last to realise it."  Finally she released him, apparently satisfied.  "Well, it seems there is nothing wrong with you now.  But if the horse had been shod, you would not have been so lucky."

As Athela dismissed him, Elrohir hesitated before he returned to Elladan's room.  Although he did not want to leave his twin for longer than necessary, he realised his concern was a little selfish.  He was not the only one who cared about Elladan, and knew that their parents would want to spend time with him as well.  Telling himself that he was leaving his brother in safe hands, Elrohir left for a task he dreaded.  He went to see Bereth's family.  It was something he knew he could not avoid, a self-imposed task that his own honour forced on him.

Aeluin, Bereth's mother, had returned to her duties as an assistant healer, although he had not seen her in the infirmary.  He suspected she had been given light duties, work that would keep her occupied but where the occasional, inevitable lapse in concentration would not harm a patient.  Bereth's father Bragol was a guard like his older son, and could be out on patrol.  But Aeluin, at least was at home, it seemed.  He knocked at their door and waited.   Aeluin looked up, startled to see him as she opened it.

"Lord Elrohir!"  She inclined her head briefly in greeting.  "Please, come in, my lord.  Will you be seated?"

"Thank you."  He sat down, and accepted the cup of wine she offered, hoping the small courtesies would make her a little less tense.  And him.   "Aeluin, how are you?

I wanted to tell you how desperately sorry I am about Bereth."

"We – are coping.  Just.  Bragol is out on patrol, all the time, he cannot bear to be here – there are too many memories.   But Beregar – I worry about him.  They were very close.  He feels the loss more than any of us, I think."

Elrohir began to tell her of their journey, of Bereth's last days.  "And Aeluin, remember that if there is anything you need, _ever_, no matter what, you have only to ask.  Any of my family.  I – I  owe Bereth my life.  None of us will ever forget that."

"You – how?  What did he do?"

Elrohir swiftly retold the story of his meeting with Dacy.  "I tried to save the child, but the river was too swift.  We would both have been swept away if it had not been for Bereth."  Finishing the tale, he ended,  "He saved my life.  I will always remember that.  I just wish things had ended differently."  He went on to explain what he had found when they had arrived at Barlynch, the desperate plight of the people there.  "So I decided to stay, and sent Bereth on to Tarlong.  It was the only way we could help both communities.  I had to help Tiama and her people."

"Tiama?"  echoed a cold voice from behind him.  "Who is Tiama?  Another of your conquests?  Is _she_ the reason you abandoned Bereth and sent him to his death?  Was it just another assignation for you, _Lord Elrohir?"_

**To be continued**


	16. Another Wanderer Returns

**Chapter 16 – Another Wanderer Returns**

Elrohir leapt to his feet and spun around, utterly stunned at the bitter accusation.  Behind him, Aeluin had also jumped up, and she gave a soft cry of protest.  "Beregar, no!  You should not say such things!  Lord Elrohir came here to apologise!"

"Apologise?  For what?  For causing the death of my brother?  How is that supposed to comfort my mother in the loss of her son; to comfort my sister and me in the loss of our brother?  You will have to forgive me, Lord Elrohir, but I do not accept your apology!"  Sarcasm dripped from his words.

Aeluin tried desperately to intervene.  "Beregar, please stop, you are making things worse!  _Please!"_

"Aeluin, do not worry.  He has every right to his anger with me."  Turning towards Beregar, Elrohir continued, "You cannot blame me more than I already blame myself.   I just wish I could have acted differently."   Since Barlynch, Elrohir had had time to come to the realisation that he could not have prevented Bereth's death, unless he had managed to persuade one of the guards to accompany him to Tarlong.  And that, given the dire situation there, and the people's stark fear of contracting or spreading the disease, was rather remote.   While he regretted the necessity of his actions, he knew he would have to do the same again.

Beregar, irrational in his grief, did not listen to either his mother or Elrohir.   "They left together.  Bereth was alive and well then.  Now they return, days apart.  Bereth – Bereth is dead, while _he" – he flung an accusatory arm at Elrohir – "is alive and well.  You let my brother die!" he screamed._

"Beregar, you should not believe such things," said Elrohir calmly.  "I owe Bereth much, I share your grief."

"How can you?  How can you know what it is to lose one you love?  Your brother still lives!"

Elrohir flinched as if Beregar had struck him.  He froze, biting his lip. "Yes, he lives – for the moment," he said quietly.  He turned and left suddenly, not even bidding farewell to Aeluin.  He dared not say anything else; he did not trust his voice not to betray him.  He walked blindly along the paths that led back to the house, relying on the familiarity of the route to guide him.  He could not fault Beregar for his earlier words, nothing the other said could even begin to approach the self-blame Elrohir felt himself.  But the comment about Elladan was too much.

All the fear and worry he felt for Elladan, all the sadness he felt over his twin's very real grief, however misplaced, coalesced into a shapeless dread.  Elrohir knew he had been gone for far too long.  Who knew how Elladan was faring?  If his brother needed him, Elrond would not know where to find him – he had been on his way to the infirmary.  It was time he returned.

Anxious now, Elrohir quickened his pace, emerging onto the courtyard from a side path.  He crossed swiftly to the entrance steps, but jerked to a halt at a sudden cry of warning.

"Look out!"

Belatedly, he realised that a troop of horses had streamed in through the archway, and that he had very nearly walked beneath their hooves.  Mentally cursing his inattention – he could ill afford another such encounter – he veered away around them, paying little attention to the foremost rider, who was cursing him roundly.  But then the rider dropped to the ground in front of him, enveloping him in bear-like hug, and kissing him.

"Elrohir!  Is it really you?  After I got Mother's letter, you were the last person I expected to see!"

"_Arwen_?"  Elrohir stared at his sister, more than a little dazed. Arwen sounded every bit as surprised as he felt, but he returned the embrace.  "Arwen, how wonderful to see you!  But what are you doing here?  I thought you were still in Lórien!"

Arwen nodded, lacing her arm through his, and guiding him towards the steps.  "I was," she confirmed.   She flung a glance over her shoulder.  "Bryanth, would you see to my horse?  Bless you!" She blew the guard an airy kiss.

"Ar, stop a moment.  What letter?  And where is your escort?  Just look at you!"  She was dishevelled, her hair snarled and tangled where it had come adrift from her braids, tendrils clinging to her face.  She looked distinctly travel-stained.  Her guards were in no better shape, just three of them, all equally weary.

Slowing down a little, Arwen drew a deep breath, collecting her thoughts.  "Some days ago, grandmother told me it was time I returned home, but she would not say any more than that.  I left the next day, but just as we crossed the pass, a messenger met us.  He carried a letter from Mother; she sounded desperately worried about you.  So we rode as fast as we could.  The rest of the guards could not keep up, these are all that are left," she added, indicating the three warriors.

Elrohir shook his head, his worry over Elladan temporarily displaced.  "Ar, you should be more careful!   You know how dangerous the pass can be!  If anything happened to you as well …"  

"As well as what?   El, whatever is the matter with you?"  Arwen sounded bewildered, and more than a little annoyed.

Swiftly, Elrohir explained all that had occurred during her absence,  ending with his encounter with Beregar.  Arwen's expression saddened as she learned of Bereth's death.  She had once exchanged shy kisses with him beneath the stars at one of the Mid Summer festivals.  

He finished his rapid explanation just as they approached the infirmary.  Raising one finger to his lips, motioning Arwen to silence, Elrohir pushed open the door to Elladan's chamber, just a little.  His mother and father were still sitting at his brother's side, and Legolas still hovered by the window.  "I am sorry I was so long, there was something I had to do," he began.  "But look what I found down in the courtyard!"  He pushed the door open fully, revealing Arwen standing behind him.

A joyous reunion followed between all five, muted out of consideration for patients in the infirmary; but ecstatic none the less.  Then Arwen perched on the edge of the bed, turning her attention to her other brother.  "Elladan?   Will you not wake up and greet me?  Have you no welcome for your favourite sister?"  Her pleas had no more effect than any other.  Elladan remained totally unresponsive.  He breathed, and behind the closed lids his eyes flickered constantly, but there was little other sign of life.

"Is there no change?"  Elrohir asked hopelessly.  He knew it was a foolish question, if there had been even the slightest change Elrond would have said so immediately.  However he was still obscurely disappointed when his father shook his head.

"Nothing.  I have done all I can for now – I think, I hope, that his arm will heal, and that he will regain full use of it.  But other than that …  I do not know," he admitted.  "But for now, Arwen has messages from your Grandmother and Grandfather, and much to tell us of her visit.  And Legolas tells me that there many tales to tell of his journeys with you and Elladan.  Will you join us in my study for lunch?"

Elrohir gave a slight shake of his head.  "I will stay here a while longer with El," he said.  He gave a small smile, kissing his sister again.  "It is good to see you returned, Ar," he added.  "I missed you.  We both did."

As the others left, Elrohir sat by his brother's side again, holding one of the limp hands in his.   He had no idea how much sensation Elladan may have regained in his left hand, so he sat on the right.  "El?  Elladan, can you hear me?  El, please wake up," he called softly.  "I am here, I am alive, and I am safe and well.  I know what they said at Tarlong, but they were wrong.  El, can you hear me?  Can you feel me holding your hand?  Can you feel this?"  He squeezed Elladan's hand tightly, looking for any flicker of reaction, any trace of awareness, any response at all.  There was nothing.  Elladan's earlier restlessness, when he had struggled and fought against his terrifying nightmares, crying out with fear and grief, had faded to a frightening stillness, though his body still burned.  It seemed he was too weak even to fight the fever.  "El, if you can hear me, listen to me.  Do not give up.  You are not alone,  I am here with you, right by your side."  His voice dropped to a bare whisper.  "I love you El, please do not leave me."

He continued throughout the rest of the day, talking to Elladan, reading to him, reminiscing.  "Do you remember the first time we went to Lasgalen? When we dressed the same, so no one could tell us apart?  Do you remember the look on Thranduil's face?  And father's?  Legolas never knew who he was talking to, so he called us both Ellahir.  Do you remember that?"  He paused wearily, resting his voice for a moment, then continued with a touch of exasperation,  "El, will you please wake up?  Why are you such a _stubborn son of an orc?"_

"Do you usually speak of me so disrespectfully?  Or perhaps you refer to your father.    And if Elladan is the son of an orc, what does that make you?"    Celebrían's soft voice, faintly amused, startled him.

"Mother!"  Startled, Elrohir sat bolt upright.  "I did not hear you come in.  I was just talking to El."   

"I know.  Is there any change?"  Celebrían gave her son the cup of wine she had brought.

Elrohir sipped at the wine, grateful at the way it soothed his dry throat.  Then he shook his head slightly.  "Not yet.  But I will not give up yet."  He sighed.  "Mother, why is he so stubborn?"

Celebrían did smile at that.  Elrohir seemed unaware that of the two, he could be far more stubborn than his twin.  But both her sons – and daughter – came from a long line of stubborn, strong willed elves and men.  Their grandfather had found the courage and determination to sail to the Undying Lands, to petition the Valar themselves and enlist their aid.  Her own mother had defied the Valar and been exiled as a result.  It was little wonder that her children could be so determined, obstinate, headstrong and pig-headed at times.

She leaned over and kissed them both.  "Keep trying.  If anyone can call him back, you can."

Elrohir nodded wearily.  "I know.  I just hope I can reach him."  As the door closed behind Celebrían, he took another sip of the wine, then swore softly.  The fire had almost died, and he should have asked her to place some more logs on it.  He straightened, moving a little stiffly after sitting for so long, and pulled his hand free of Elladan's.  To his amazement, the grip on his fingers tightened imperceptibly, and he looked down at his brother.  "El?"  He moved his hand again, and this time he was certain.  Elladan's hand moved fractionally towards him, seeking the lost contact.  He appeared to say something, but it was not possible to tell what.

Elrohir dropped to his knees beside the bed, his stiffness forgotten, the fire forgotten.  "El?  Can you hear me?  Are you there?"  He caught the groping hand in both of his, then moved one again to touch his brother's face.  "Elladan, can you hear me?"

Elladan could no longer distinguish nightmare from reality.   The two ran together into a maelstrom of anguish, in which one thought dominated all.  Elrohir was dead.  The awful reality of that eclipsed even the worst nightmare he had ever had. It was simply something he had never contemplated.  But eventually a more tranquil dream came to him, one of happier memories.  In his dream he could hear Elrohir's voice again, so much loved; so much missed.  His twin spoke to him of shared memories, of mischief and punishments.  There had been so much love and laughter in their family.  The pain of what he had lost; what they had _all_ lost, tore at him.  Things would never be the same again.  

But for now he was content to relax into the dream, enjoying the illusion that Elrohir was actually by his side, talking to him.  He could almost believe that he could feel his brother's touch on his hand.  He smiled slightly as Elrohir became frustrated, calling him a stubborn son of an orc.  His twin might be dead, but it seemed it was still possible to annoy him.  It was encouraging that some things had not changed.  But then Elrohir began to pull away from him, and Elladan knew that soon he would be alone again.  He tried to cling to the illusion of contact, to prolong the dream and delay his inevitable waking and return to bitter reality.  

He had to return, he knew that.  He could not succumb to the tempting oblivion that beckoned him.  Elrohir would not want that, although he would surely understand.   But Elladan knew he had to find within himself the strength to live – for his mother, for his father, and his sister.  And for himself.  But for now, he clung to the comforting security of the dream.  He clutched at Elrohir's hand as he tried to withdraw it, and voiced his protest.  "No.  Stay, please stay."  He made no sound, and wondered if he had spoken at all, or if the words were in his mind alone, along with the dream.  But it all seemed so _real_.

Elrohir's voice came again, urgent now, calling to him sharply, almost as if in response to his actions.  He felt a gentle caress, as cool fingers touched his cheek.  Was it possible?  Could it be that Elrohir was truly there?  Scarcely daring to believe it, Elladan turned his head, very slightly, towards the sound.  "El?"  Again he could not hear his own voice, but it did not matter, for the answer came immediately.

It was the sweetest sound he had heard in all his life.  "Yes! Yes, I am here."  It was Elrohir, replying to him, unmistakeable, for all there was an odd catch to his voice.  Elladan smiled, and shifted his grip a little, feeling the fingers beneath his slide free.  It did not matter.  Somehow, incredibly, Elrohir was with him once more.  Faintly, he could hear the slight rattle of glass on glass, and the sound of water being poured.  Then there was movement beside him again, and cool liquid brushed his lips.  Then he was lifted, and leaned back against Elrohir as the water was held for him to drink.

Elladan sipped at the water slowly, coughing slightly as it trickled down his parched throat.  Vaguely he wondered how long it had been since he had last drunk anything.  He was still thirsty when the cup was removed.  Then, struggling a little, he opened his eyes, blinking once or twice until he could see clearly. "El?"  he asked again slowly.  "Is it … really you?  They … told me you were dead."   His voice was still weak and faint, but Elrohir gave him a brilliant smile.

"Yes, I know," Elrohir said softly.  "But they were wrong.  It was a mistake, a terrible mistake.  I am here, I am alive, I am well – apart  from worrying over you!"

"Good."  Elladan's eyes drifted shut again, and his head fell back against Elrohir's shoulder.  "Thought … I was … dreaming."  He slept.

"It was no dream, brother,"  Elrohir spoke quietly.   He leaned back, Elladan resting against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around his brother.  Then he dropped his head and kissed Elladan gently on the top of his head, in a rare gesture of intimacy that they simply did not need normally. "It was a nightmare.  But it is over now.  You are back with us again.  Sleep now, without fear."

**To be continued**


	17. Conversations

**Chapter Seventeen – Conversations**

Elrohir continued to hold Elladan for what remained of the night.  Now that Elladan knew his brother lived, he should be able to draw strength and comfort from the contact.  Elrohir gazed unseeingly at the darkened windows, trying to imagine the black despair and soul-numbing anguish Elladan must have felt in his nightmares.  To be told not only that his twin was dead, but then to relive that moment, and believe it anew – his heart wept for the pain Elladan had endured.

He was still concerned about Elladan.  There was the injury to his arm, the residual effects of the poison, and the fever that continued to burn throughout his body.  Although he could not help but rejoice that his brother had awakened and been lucid for a short while, the combined onslaught of the three factors of the original injury could still overwhelm him.

Across the room, the door into the chamber opened, and Arwen entered.  She moved across to the bed quietly, hesitantly, and stopped before she reached it, gazing down at her brothers, reluctant to disturb them.  

Elrohir turned his head slightly.  "Arwen.  Come and join us."  He indicated the edge of the bed on Elladan's other side.  She sat, and leaned over to hug them both.

"I thought perhaps you were asleep," she explained.  "How is he?"

Elrohir smiled slightly.  "I was not asleep, just thinking," he said.  "El woke up a little while ago.  He knew me; he talked to me."  The relief and joy on his face was obvious.  "Now I think he is just sleeping.  But now that you are here, I think I should see to the fire.  It went out some time ago."  He moved slightly, and settled Elladan back against the pillows before sliding off the bed and crossing to the fireplace.

When he returned, Arwen had taken his place, sitting at Elladan's side and holding one limp hand between hers.  Elrohir instead went to a high-backed couch beside the bed and sat down, drawing his feet up and leaning wearily against the padded side.  "Father looked in twice during the night," he commented.  "And Mother, and Legolas.  I wondered when it would be your turn.  Are you going to tell me to get some sleep?  They all did."

Smiling, Arwen shook her head.  "No, I know you too well to suggest it.  You will never rest while you are still worried about El."

Elrohir smiled.  It was true, Arwen knew him better than anyone, apart from Elladan.  The three had always been very close, even as children, though he feared that he and Elladan had often – not always unintentionally – excluded Arwen by their bond.  "Well, now that you are here, tell me what you have been doing.  How are grandmother and grandfather?  And what about Haldir?  Has he asked you to marry him again?"

"They are well, all of them.  And Haldir only asked me once.  I think he is learning."  She leaned back against the head of the bed, still clasping Elladan's hand, and began to tell of her year-long visit to Lórien.  She spoke of the tranquillity of the wood, the peace and calm, and the murmuring, musical voice of Nimrodel; and gradually lulled Elrohir into much-needed sleep.

~~*~~

Elladan drifted closer to consciousness, but his thoughts were still scattered and confused.  He had been dreaming such bitter dreams, full of darkness and despair.  He had dreamed of Elrohir's death, and could still feel where the desperate anguish of that had torn at him.   But there had been another dream, one where Elrohir sat at his side, safe and well, though his eyes were full of worry.  But which dream been real?  Were either of them true?  Had Elrohir truly been there, or was it just another hallucination?  If so, it was the cruellest yet.

Warily, full of dread, Elladan opened his eyes again, praying fervently that he would see Elrohir there.  He did not.  Instead, there was Arwen, smiling at him.  Her expression was concerned, but not grief-stricken.  But where had she come from?

"Ar?" he asked weakly.  "Why are you here?   I thought …"  he stopped as she placed a finger against his lips.

"Hush," she told him.  "Do not speak.  I arrived yesterday, do you remember?  Mother wrote to me, she was worried.  She said it was time I came home.  But I did not expect to find you at death's door!"

Elladan gazed at her blankly.  Had he truly been that ill?  But why?  "Was I?  I – I cannot remember.  Ar, what happened?  And – where is Elrohir?  I thought he was here, beside me.  Was it – was it just a dream?"  Unbidden, tears welled up in his eyes at the thought that it had just been a desperate figment of his imagination.

Matching tears shone in Arwen's eyes.  "Oh, Elladan, no!  Have no fear.  Look!"  She touched his cheek with gentle fingers, turning his head slightly.  "But hush, do not disturb him."

Elrohir lay curled on the couch beside the bed, his feet at one end – their mother would not be pleased – and his head resting against the cushioned arm.  His eyes were empty in sleep, and someone, Arwen presumably, had placed a light cover over him.

Elladan smiled in relief.  "Good.  He led me a merry dance these past few weeks, did you know that?" he whispered.  "First he disappeared,  and no-one knew where he was, then I thought he had managed to get himself killed.  But it was poor Bereth instead."  He paused, exhausted by the few words, then finished, "Did you know that?"

Arwen hushed him again.  "Yes, I knew.  Legolas told me all about it.  But rest for now.  Let me tell you about Lórien."  Softly, her voice soothing, she told him about her stay in their grandparent's realm, the quiet words again weaving a peaceful spell around him.  Elladan slipped once more into dreams, safe in the knowledge that he was home, and that his beloved twin was indeed alive and well.

Arwen watched over her brothers as they both slept, thinking how odd it felt.  The twins had always been very protective of her, despite the fact that she was not much younger than they were, and this reversal in their roles felt strange.  It was dawn now, and she knew that as soon as their parents awoke – assuming they had slept at all – Elrond or Celebrían, or both of them, would be here again.  

Sure enough, only moments later, the door opened and they both entered.  "Is there any change?" Celebrían began, but then she caught sight of Elrohir, still asleep next to the bed.  "I see that there must be," she smiled.  "Thank the Valar!"

"Elladan awoke again a short while ago," Arwen explained.  "He was still worried about Elrohir – he was afraid that when he spoke to him earlier it was just a dream.  But I think he has accepted it now."

Elrond moved to the bed and began to examine his son, checking his temperature, feeling his pulse.  Elladan still had a slight fever, but it was less than it had been, although still higher than he liked.  His pulse was steady, if a little fast, and equally strong in Elladan's left wrist – the circulation in his injured arm did not seem to have been impaired.  The only remaining test was to see how much feeling there was in that hand.

Elrond placed one hand on Elladan's forehead, and said softly, "Elladan.  Elladan, awake now."  His son responded almost immediately, his eyes flickering open once more.  Elrond did not miss the way Elladan's eyes turned at once towards Elrohir, checking his presence, before focusing again on his father.  "Welcome back, my son.  I am glad to see you awake again, at last.  Would you like to have a drink?"

At Elladan's nod, Elrond helped him to sit, before placing a cup in his right hand.  Elladan raised it to his mouth, but then stopped, looking at it suspiciously.  "What is it?"

Elrond ignored Arwen's laugh, saying merely, "Watered wine, honey and herbs.  Nothing else.  No drugs to make you sleep, I promise.  It is time to wake now."

Elladan sipped the wine slowly.  It was _very_ well watered, he noticed, but the honey sweetened the taste and soothed his throat as he swallowed.   As he finished, his hand began to shake a little, and Arwen leaned across and took the cup from him before it slipped from his grasp.  He sighed in frustration.

"I want to see how much sensation you have in your hand," Elrond said.  He took his son's hand, flexing the fingers and massaging them.  "Can you feel that?"  At Elladan's nod, he continued, squeezing each fingertip in turn.  "And that?"  

"Yes,"  Elladan confirmed.  "El did the same thing when we were at Withypool, but I could feel nothing then."

Elrond smiled approvingly.  "He did?  Good.  He did well."

"Of course.  I was taught by the best," Elrohir murmured drowsily, still half asleep.  The voices had woken him, and he had been listening to the conversation.  "El, how does your hand feel now?"

"Better.  My arm throbs, but apart from that it feels much better."

"That is well," said Elrond.  "Now, let us see what movement you have in your fingers.  Squeeze my hand."

Elladan tried, but he was unable to do more than curl his fingers slightly.  "I cannot," he confessed, rather worried.  "That is all I can do."

Elrohir sat up at that, trying to hide his concern, but shooting a worried glance at their father.   He hoped that the damage done by the poison – which had been considerable – had not caused lasting injury.

"Well, it is early days yet," said Elrond, sounding supremely unconcerned.  "There is plenty of time for your arm to heal, and for your hand to strengthen.  We will see how things are tomorrow.  Sleep now.  I think we all had very little rest last night."

As the room emptied – even Elrohir finally persuaded to seek his bed – Elladan lay back, frustrated at his weakness.  The smallest action exhausted him. He had been awake for a matter of minutes, and was already weary, and  could feel his eyelids drooping once again.  When would he feel stronger – and when would he regain movement in his hand?

~~*~~

As soon as it was light enough for him to roam the grounds of Imladris without alarming the guards too much, Legolas let himself out into the gardens.   He had spent a restless night, sleeping fitfully, and had looked in to see Elladan at one time.  There had been no change, and the strain and weariness showed clearly on Elrohir.  He had stayed, talking quietly to them both, until Elrond arrived.

He made his way to a small stream that flowed through the trees.  Others rarely came here, and he could seek the solitude he relished.  Today, however, it was not to be, for there was already someone there.  Legolas deliberately made his progress audible, and the other turned as he approached.

"Prince Legolas!" he exclaimed in some surprise.

"Greetings," Legolas replied.  The other elf looked vaguely familiar, but he could not recall a name.  "Forgive me; I do not think I know you."

His companion inclined his head slightly.  "My name is Beregar.  Bereth was my brother."

"Then you have my deepest sympathy.  I was with Elladan when we learned of his death.  Elladan spoke very highly of your brother."

"He did?  He has not seen fit to mention it to me since his return."  Beregar sounded rather bitter.

Legolas frowned.  "Obviously you are unaware, but Elladan is gravely ill.  He received a minor wound that we did not realise, until it was too late, was poisoned."  He paused, his expression grim.  "His family fear he may not live."

Beregar regarded him in shock.  "I – I did not know.  Lord Elrohir said nothing of this."

"Elrohir?  When did you speak to him?"

"He came to see my mother yesterday, with some excuse for Bereth's death, the reason why he sent Bereth off into the wilds while he stayed in the comfort and safety of a town!"  Beregar abruptly turned his back on Legolas.

Legolas decided that, despite Beregar's grief, he had to face the facts. "There was little comfort, or safety, in that town.  The infirmary was full to overflowing, their only healer had fallen ill.  There were over fifty patients there, and Elrohir had saved all of them, all but a handful.  When we arrived, he had collapsed from exhaustion, after working for ten days, alone and without rest.  As well as treating the sick, he had been using his own healing skills to help them.  You must know from your mother, or Bereth, how dangerous that can be!"

"I do," Beregar admitted.  "They do not have such abilities themselves, but have often spoken of those who have.  He must have taken a great risk."  He sighed.  "I think perhaps I owe him an apology.  My mother said as much last night.  I should not have said the things I did."

Legolas looked at him silently, one eyebrow raised in question.

"I accused him of sending Bereth to his death," Beregar said quietly.  "Of abandoning his commitments for an assignation with a woman – the healer you spoke of.  That he could not possibly understand my grief, as his own brother was alive and well."

Legolas flinched inwardly.  Beregar could scarcely have said anything that would wound Elrohir more, yet he had said nothing when he returned to Elladan's room.  "I think perhaps you do owe him an apology," he agreed.  "But it may be best to wait until Elladan has regained consciousness.  Elrohir may be in a better frame of mind then."

Beregar nodded, and turned away towards the house.  Legolas watched him go, hoping that the young guard would be able to find some peace to ease his heartache.

**To be continued**


	18. Apologies

**Chapter Eighteen – Apologies**

As he reached his rooms, Elrohir closed the door behind him and leaned against it with a long sigh.   Despite his deep weariness, and continuing concern about his brother, he could not prevent the smile that crept unbidden across his face.  Elladan was awake and alert, and had finally been convinced that his twin lived.  He would recover.  For now, that was enough.  There would be time later to worry about the injury to Elladan's arm, his inability to move his hand or fingers, the possibility of muscular damage – and Beregar's unexpected accusation.

Ignoring his bed – he was desperately tired, but knew if he so much as lay down he would sleep until the next day – Elrohir went instead to the bathing room, drawing a deep, hot bath.  He unbound his hair, noticing that in places it was still caked with dried blood and mud from when the horse had kicked him, and stripped off his grimy, travel-stained, blood-stained clothes, kicking them into a corner to deal with later.  He realised with faint disgust that he had been wearing the same things since he, Elladan and Legolas had left Marla and Dacy over two days ago.  

He lay a long time in the deep water, revelling in the warm, sybaritic luxury, letting the aches and pains of their long journey, and the endless day and night he had just endured, soak away.  Finally rousing himself,  he ducked his head beneath the water, washing his hair thoroughly, rinsing away the blood and dirt from their journey.

At last Elrohir felt clean.  Leaving the now lukewarm water, he wrapped a towel about his waist, dressing swiftly in fresh, clean clothes, and combing and braiding his hair while it was still damp.  He did not know how long Elladan would sleep for, and did not want him to awaken alone.  As soon as possible, he returned to the infirmary.

He arrived to find the door to Elladan's room slightly ajar.  Pushing it open, he expected to find his parents, or Arwen, or Legolas, or possibly one of the healers.  Instead, he saw a familiar, though unwelcome, dark haired figure leaning over Elladan, his back to the door.

A momentary panic and distrust flared through him.  "Beregar!  What do you want?  What are you doing here?" Elrohir snapped.  "Leave Elladan alone!"

The figure straightened, startled, and turned quickly.  "Lord Elrohir!  I – I was just – I did not hear you come in,"  Beregar stammered.

"I said, what are you doing here?" Elrohir demanded again.  He crossed to the bed, and glanced down at Elladan.  He relaxed slightly as he saw that his brother still slept peacefully, and appeared undisturbed.  Turning, Elrohir glared at Beregar again.  "Well?" he asked suspiciously.

Beregar did not meet Elrohir's gaze, and dropped his head to stare at the floor.  "I – I thought you might be here.  And … I came to see Elladan," he explained hesitantly.  "I did not know what had happened.  I did not know he was so ill.  And – I came to apologise for my words to you.  For my outburst yesterday."  He lifted his gaze from the floor, and finally met Elrohir's eyes.  "Lord Elrohir, forgive me.  I know that you would never have allowed any harm to come to Bereth if you could have prevented it.  I –I spoke in grief. And anger."

His earlier mistrust faded, and Elrohir regarded Beregar with sympathy.  He knew the brothers had been very close, although Bereth had been many years younger than his siblings.  Beregar looked, and sounded, very downcast.  And fearful, too – with good reason.  In many ancient Elven societies, an accusation such as he had made – especially against his Lord's family – could have resulted in exile.  Such laws had never been repealed, although they were no longer used in Imladris.  "You are forgiven, Beregar.  Although I pray I never know your grief, I do know what it is to love a brother – and to fear for his life.  Of course I forgive you," he said gently.

Beregar let out a long sigh.  "Thank you, my Lord.  Thank you.  And – I hope Lord Elladan will be well."

Elrohir smiled for the first time since entering the room.  "He will be.  Beregar, I have a request.  After a day journeying together, I managed to persuade Bereth to stop calling me 'Lord' Elrohir.  Will you do the same?"

Beregar nodded.  "Yes, my Lord."  He flushed, nodded again,  and added "Yes, I will try.  Good day."  He left the room hurriedly.

Still standing by the edge of the bed, Elrohir stared after Beregar, then looked down at Elladan again.  For a brief, insane moment,  he had  really believed that Beregar meant to harm Elladan.  Shaking his head in disbelief at his own suspicions – his exhaustion and anxiety was making him irrational – he released a long sigh, and took his now customary position beside his twin, leaning against the bed head.

"I hope you did not hear that, El," he murmured.  "It was not one of my finer moments – you would not have been proud of me.  I am not particularly proud of myself.  What was I thinking?  I know Beregar would never harm you!  Thank the Valar I stopped short of saying anything more serious."  He fell silent, and closed his eyes, still weary.  

A thought occurred to him, and he opened his eyes again, taking Elladan's injured hand in his.  Although Elladan could not move his hand himself, _any_ movement of his fingers and wrist would strengthen the muscles and aid his recovery.  Gently, not wanting to awaken him, Elrohir began to carefully flex his brother's fingers, straightening and bending them, using his thumb to massage the palm of Elladan's hand.  Very carefully, not wanting to pull at the healing incision on his arm, he turned the wrist as well, moving it up and down.  Finally satisfied, he finished by monitoring Elladan's pulse.  It was nearly normal, and his temperature, too, was close to what it should be.

As he worked, Elrohir reviewed the conversations he had had with Beregar – both that morning, and the previous day.  He could not fault Beregar for his words – his own reaction at finding Beregar standing over Elladan spoke eloquently of the effect fear, grief and worry could have – but he realised that he would have to speak to Aeluin again.  It had been discourteous to have left so abruptly, especially as Aeluin had offered no censure of him, and had accepted his explanation of her son's death.

Elrohir gently placed Elladan's arm across his chest.  His brother still slept peacefully, although it was always disconcerting to see him with his eyes closed like that.  He knew that that was how Elladan had found _him_ at Barlynch, and wished again that his memories of awakening to find Elladan caring for him were clearer, but his recollection of the moment was hazy, to say the least.  His thoughts drifted again to the endless, yet swiftly flowing days when he had been tending to the sick, and sadness swept over him as he remembered anew the children who had died there.  

As if on cue, the sound of laughter drew his attention to the window, which had been opened to greet the dawn.  Elrohir crossed the room to look down into a garden where elflings raced between the trees and swung, squealing, from the branches.  One of the older elflings suddenly saw him, and straightened, looking up at him contritely.  "Lord El!  I'm sorry, are we making too much noise?  I told them we should be quieter near the infirmary!"  He gestured at the others, still playing happily.

Elrohir smiled at the boy. "No, of course not.  Your laughter will do us all good – and that does look like fun!"  He indicated an elfling who was hanging upside down from a rather high branch.

"Oh, it is!" the boy agreed.  "Thank you, Lord El!"  The name had been coined by a rather bold elfling some years previously, and had quickly caught on.  With a wave, Elrohir turned from the window, and returned to the bed.  The shouts and laughter were soothing, not disturbing, and Elrohir listened, smiling, remembering the games and adventures he, Elladan and Arwen had had in their childhood.  He was skirting the edge of dreams when the door opened once again and Elrond entered.  

His father did not look particularly pleased to see him.  "I thought I told you to get some sleep?" he asked with resignation.

"You did," Elrohir agreed.  "But I did not want El to wake and find me gone.  Not yet."

Elrond nodded with a wry smile.  He should have known.  The twins had always been the same.  Whenever one of them had been hurt, they tended to revert to a habit from childhood.  When very young, they had been unable to sleep out of sight of the other.  "I suppose you would like me to ask someone to make up a bed for you in here?" he enquired.

"There is no need, I can use the couch again.  Arwen found a pillow."  Then Elrohir looked at his father again.  "If you are going to be here for a while, I want to see Aeluin again – I owe her an apology."

Elrond looked a little puzzled.  "Aeluin?  I think she is in the storeroom – she was making an inventory of the medicines and equipment.  Why an apology?"

Elrohir had forgotten that he had not mentioned Beregar's accusation to anyone other than Arwen – and that had only been because he had been too shaken to hide it from her.  "Oh – when I spoke to her yesterday, I left rather suddenly," he prevaricated.

"I understand," Elrond told him gently.  "It cannot have been easy for you.  Go, I will stay with Elladan."

Elrohir found Aeluin at the back of the huge room that held all their medical supplies,  deep in her work, counting under her breath.  He waited until she had made a note on her record sheet, then said softly, "Aeluin?"  

She turned quickly.  "Lord Elrohir!  Is – is there any news of your brother?  I did not know about him until I came on duty this morning."

"He will be well," he reassured her.  "But Aeluin, that is not why I am here.  I came to apologise for my abrupt departure yesterday.  I am sorry for my discourtesy."

"After what Beregar said?  I was afraid the two of you would come to blows.  He was wrong to say what he did.  I told him that,"  Aeluin assured him.  

Elrohir frowned.  "But I understand _why_ he said it.  I understand his grief and anger,"  he admitted.

"Yes.  And I realise now that when you came to see me, you did not know if your brother would survive the night.  Yet you took the time to talk to me.  Lord Elrohir, there is nothing to forgive.  Not for anything," Aeluin concluded firmly.

Elrohir felt a great weight fall from him as he realised fully that neither Aeluin nor Beregar held him responsible for Bereth's death.  Not now. "Thank you," he told her, then left her to her counting once more.

He returned to Elladan's room to find his brother awake, looking mutinous.  "He thinks he is well enough to get up," Elrond said grimly.  "He is not.  The fever has left him dizzy and disorientated.  Elladan, you are _not_ to move from that bed until I say you are well enough!" he concluded firmly.

Elladan glared mulishly at the door after Elrond had left, then looked pleadingly at his brother.  "El, I need your help," he begged.  "I need to go.  I need to go _there_,"  he pointed to the door that lead to the bathing room and privy.

"I see,"  Elrohir said carefully.  "And you think you can get that far?"

"Not on my own," Elladan admitted.  "Which is why I need your help.  Please, Elrohir!"

Elrohir hesitated, looking in the direction their father had taken.  "Very well," he said at last.  "But I hope Father never finds out about this.  Come on."  He helped his brother to sit, then placed Elladan's arm across his shoulders, and wrapped his own arm around Elladan's waist.  As he stood, Elladan swayed a little, and Elrohir nearly repented.  "Are you sure about this, El?"

"Yes!  How would you like it?"

"Come on, then."

Very slowly, Elrohir helped his twin across the room, taking more and more of his weight as they went.  It was rather worrying just how weak Elladan was.  At the door, Elladan disengaged himself, and leaned against the frame.  "Thank you.  I can manage now," he said with exaggerated politeness.

"Of course you can," Elrohir sounded disbelieving.  He watched as Elladan took a few steps towards the privy, leaning heavily against the wall, then added, "Do you need me to hold it for you?"

He watched with a grin as Elladan gave a snort of laughter, and managed to fling a damp towel at him.  "Shut up, little brother!" he ordered.  "Or I will tell Father that this was your idea!"

Elladan's sense of humour was intact.  It had to be a good omen for his recovery.

**To be continued**


	19. Four Is Company

**Chapter Nineteen – Four Is Company**

Elladan was nearly at the end of his strength as Elrohir helped him back to the bed, and beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all.  But it was so _frustrating_ to feel this helpless!   He leaned heavily against his brother, concentrating all his effort on placing one foot in front of the other, and willing the room to stop spinning.  They had nearly reached the bed when the door opened.  Elrohir jumped and swore, turning sharply, and Elladan swayed dangerously, nearly falling with their sudden movement.  He felt Elrohir tighten the grip on his waist reflexively and attempted to steady himself.  Turning carefully to face the door, he saw Arwen and Legolas entering, bearing a tray.

"Sorry, El," Elrohir breathed.  "Arwen, thank the Valar!  I thought it was Father.  Come and help me."

"Now why should Father make you jump like that?  And why do you both look so guilty?  Could it be that Elladan is not supposed to be out of bed?"  Smiling at her brothers' guilt, Arwen thrust the tray into Legolas's hands, and crossed to the bed, rearranging the pillows as Elrohir indicated.  Elladan sank down gratefully on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes momentarily as he regained his equilibrium, and allowing Elrohir to prop him up, supported with the pillows.

He opened his eyes at the sound of Elrohir's worried voice to see his brother gazing at him in concern.  "El, how do you feel?"

"Not wonderful," Elladan admitted.  "I think that was far enough for now.  Perhaps Father was right."  If he was honest with himself, he still felt very dizzy and unsteady.

"He usually is," Elrohir sounded rueful.  "I knew this was a bad idea!  Why do I always let you talk me into these things?" he scolded.  He dropped one hand to Elladan's wrist, checking the pulse, and frowned.  "Too fast.  Elladan, you are not moving from there again, even if I have to tie you down!"  

From the concern in the expressions of all three watching him, Elladan guessed that he probably looked as pale as he felt.  He nodded meekly.  "Very well, little brother.  I will stay here – for now."  He feared that if he did try to stand, he would fall. He accepted the cup that Elrohir handed him, but found his hand shook slightly as he tried to drink.  

Wordlessly, Elrohir placed his own hand around Elladan's, steadying his grip, helping him to sip the wine.  He sighed in exasperation.  "El, I swear you are the worst patient I have ever known!"

Elladan stared at his brother in amused disbelief at the breathtakingly inaccurate, unjust accusation.  Elrohir, though he was endlessly patient with others who were injured or sick, had no time at all for what he regarded as his own weaknesses.   When hurt or ill himself, he very quickly became impatient and frustrated, and uncharacteristically foul-tempered.  "Me?"  Elladan managed at last, with a weak smile.  "How can you say that?  Who fainted at supper once because you did not tell anyone you had fallen off the roof and hit your head?  Who was it who accused me of asking 'foolish questions' when I enquired about your headache after your encounter with the horse?  El, I fear you are a far worse patient than I have ever been!"

Elrohir flushed slightly.  "That was different.  The roof was a long time ago, and I did not want mother or father to scold me for being _on_ the roof in the first place!  And as for the other, you knew perfectly well how I felt, but we could not stay where we were, we had to get back here.  Arwen, Legolas, what do you think?"

"I think you are one as bad as the other.  Anyway, we brought some lunch," Legolas explained, hastily changing the subject and indicating the tray.  "Bread, cheese, fruit, cold meat, and some wine.  Enough for all of us."

"Because when did you two last eat?  Elladan?  What about you, Elrohir?"  Arwen looked sternly at her brothers.

Elrohir looked rather blank.  "Last night, I think.  I remember Mother brought something …"  his voice trailed off.

Arwen sighed.  "Yes, she did, but you ate nothing, apparently!  Elladan?"

Elladan realised he felt extremely hungry.  When _had_ been the last time he had eaten?   Although they had stopped once on the long ride back to Imladris, he had been unable to eat anything then, feeling far too unwell.  "El?  When did we leave Marla?  Was it yesterday?"

"Two days ago," Elrohir told him.  "You have lost at least a day.  We got back about dawn yesterday.  Do you remember any of that?"

Elladan frowned as he tried to remember.  He could recall little, the greater part of the journey had passed in a haze of pain and delirium, and he had no memory at all of arriving home.  "I think – I think I remember you riding with me.  Is that right?  But if it was two days ago, no wonder I feel hungry!  Legolas, are you going to pass that tray over here?"

Despite his hunger, he had eaten only a little before pushing his plate aside, suddenly weary again.  Elrohir noticed, and took the dish from him.  "El?  Do you want to rest?  We can leave you in peace, if you want."

"No!  Stay here and talk to me, all of you.  I have rested enough, I fear.  And El, if I do fall asleep, will you kick me to wake me up?"

Elrohir agreed with alacrity.  "Yes, of course, with the greatest of pleasure!"

Elladan leaned back, content to let the ebb and flow of conversation wash over him, as he flexed his hand experimentally.  Was it his imagination, merely wishful thinking, or was it a little easier to move than it had been?  But even if he never regained full mobility; even if he had awoken to find he had lost the use of his arm permanently – and although nothing had been said, he suspected that it had been a very real possibility – it would have been a small price to pay to have Elrohir safe.

He listened idly as Elrohir and Legolas teased Arwen about Haldir's  unrequited love, and as brother and sister then rounded on Legolas to question him about his interest in Ashia, one of Calmacil's assistants who was nearing the end of her healer's training.  This was a scene he had thought he might never see or hear again.  It felt comforting to listen to the amiable bickering between his twin, his sister, and one who was a brother in all but name.  When he had been in the depths of black despair over Elrohir's fate, Legolas had offered him unfailing friendship, understanding and support.  Gradually, the three voices faded into silence as he drifted again into sleep.

Arwen was talking of some of the friends she had made and met anew while in Lórien.  "And what is this I hear, Elrohir, about the mid winter festival?  Súriannë told me that two of your – friends – nearly came to blows!  She said that she took pity on you in the end, and looked after you herself."

Legolas laughed.  "Yes, Elladan mentioned that!  How did you manage to ask _two_ maidens to accompany you?  Did you forget?"

"No, I did not!  It was all Elladan's fault."  Elrohir sounded indignant.

"You knew?  You knew all along that it was Elladan?"

"Well, of course!  It took no great wit to work it out.  I knew _I_ had not asked Elestirnë, so it had to be Elladan!"  Elrohir scowled at his brother, now fast asleep.  

Arwen smothered a laugh.  "Are you going to tell him that you know?"

Elrohir shook his head, grinning maliciously.  "No, of course not!  This is much more fun.  He lives in fear of what I will do to him when I find out!

Legolas noticed that Elladan's eyes had closed, and he nudged Elrohir.  "El, look.  Are you going to kick him?"

Elrohir turned to look at his twin again, and his expression softened. He shook his head.  "No.  Leave him to sleep – he needs it still."  He poured the last of the wine into Arwen's cup, and gathered the debris of their lunch together.  "I will take this down to the kitchens, and get another flask of wine.  Be good – and try not to wake him."

Legolas gazed after him as the door closed.  He shook his head in disbelief.  "Arwen, I may have said this just a few times before.  I will _never_ understand your brothers!"

"Very few people do," Arwen agreed.  "Even Father occasionally admits defeat, and he _knows_ what it is like to be a twin!  But they understand each other."

~~**~~

Elrohir did not use the main stairs that led into the great hall, but instead chose a smaller flight that emerged near the kitchens.  Balancing the tray in one hand, he extended the other to open a door when it suddenly flew open and a young elleth burst through.  She cannoned into him, rebounded, and sat down heavily on the floor.  Looking up, her mouth fell open and she blushed.  "Oh no – Lord El!  I'm sorry, I didn't see you – are you all right?"

Elrohir managed to steady the tray, which had wobbled dangerously, and now he set it down on a convenient table.  He bent down, extending a hand to help the child up.  "There is no harm done, little" – he sought for her name – "Rothella.  Are you hurt?"

She scrambled to her feet, putting her arms around his waist for a quick hug, and shook her head.  "Oh, no!  But we shouldn't have been running.  It was Helluin's fault – we were playing catch."

He frowned slightly, then lifted her high into the air, before settling her perched on his hip, and smiling.  "Do you think that wise, indoors?  If you break anything, you will have Erestor after you!"

"Oh, no, we won't break anything!  The ball is soft, see?  Nana made it for us."  Her brother, Helluin, nodded, and threw the ball to Rothella.  She held it out for Elrohir's inspection.

Elrohir solemnly agreed that the ball was indeed suitable, and was about to pass it back when he hesitated.  "Your mother made this?  Do you think she would make one for me?  Or could I borrow this?"

"You, Lord El?  But you're too old to play games!"  Rothella protested.

"I hope I will never be too old for games. But it is not for me, it is for my brother."

"The other Lord El?" Helluin questioned.

"Yes, the other Lord El,"  Elrohir confirmed with a smile.  "He hurt his hand, and I think that this may help."

Both Rothella and Helluin nodded eagerly.  "Of course you can borrow it!  I will tell Naneth, she will make us another this evening."

"Then you have my thanks, both of you."   He set Rothella back on her feet, and watched, amused, as the two raced away, calling for their mother.  Recalling his errand, he retrieved the tray and continued to the kitchens, collecting another flask of wine before returning to Elladan.

He found Arwen and Legolas playing chess and watched the game, offering occasional comments to both.  The room was growing dark, so Elrohir lit lamps and drew the curtains against the gathering dusk.  Elladan still slept, so they talked in soft voices, not wishing to disturb him.

Shortly after the conclusion of the game – Legolas won, but it had been hard-fought – Elrond appeared, smiling at the four.  "I thought you would all still be here.  Elrohir, have you changed the bandages?"

Elrohir shook his head.  "No, not yet, I did not want to wake him.  But there seems to be a little more movement in his hand, I think."

Carefully, Elrond began to unwrap the bandages that swathed Elladan's arm, but the movement inevitably awoke his son.  Elladan blinked a little, still drowsy, then glanced at Elrohir.  "El, I told you to wake me up if I fell asleep!" he complained.

"I know you did.  But you clearly needed to rest – you are still not well, Elladan,"  Elrohir explained softly.

Elladan looked as if he would argue, but could scarcely dispute the fact.  Instead, he turned his attention to Elrond's examination of his arm.  The new incision was much longer than the original shallow cut, and deeper.  But the flesh was no longer inflamed, and the edges of the wound had begun to knit together, criss-crossed by a line of neat stitches.  Elrond touched one side of the scar gently, and ran his finger along one edge.  Elladan flinched and tried to pull his arm away.

Elrond was immediately concerned.  "What is it?  Does that still cause you pain?"

"No! It tickles!"  Elladan exclaimed.

"Good!"  Elrond gave a nod of satisfaction.  "It means the feeling is returning to your arm.  There should be no lasting damage.  Now, squeeze my hand as you did before."

Elladan tried hard to do so, and was quite sure now that there was more movement in his hand.  But there was still no strength behind the grip.

"That will come with time," Elrond told him reassuringly.

"I got this for you," said Elrohir, producing the soft ball.  "I borrowed it from two of the elflings.  I thought it might help to exercise your hand."  He demonstrated flexing his hand around it, then passed it to his twin.

Elladan squeezed the ball experimentally, and managed to make a slight impression on the soft leather.  He looked up at his brother with a smile.  "Well, it is a start, I suppose.  Thank you, El."

Elrond completed his examination, but left Elladan's arm uncovered.  "It is healing well, so I see no reason to re-bandage it.  Tell me, did you manage to get all the way back to bed without collapsing earlier?"

Elrohir looked up, startled, but then chuckled.  "I should have realised you would know!"

"I know you both far too well," Elrond agreed.  "I would have been far more worried if Elladan had _not_ tried to persuade you to allow him to get up."

"He did make it back in one piece, but it was a close thing," Elrohir admitted.

"If I had fallen, it would have been El's fault," Elladan protested.  "He nearly dropped me!"

Elrohir looked indignant.  "It was Arwen!  She startled me!"

"Now wait a moment!"  Arwen declared hotly.  "How was I to know that you were both defying orders – although I suppose I should have guessed."

"Children, children," Elrond said placatingly, with the familiarity and experience of many long years.  "Stop arguing, please.  What will Legolas think?"

Legolas, in an attempt not to laugh aloud at the squabbling, had crossed to the window, and was looking down into the little garden.  There was a man there, vaguely familiar, sitting on a bench beneath one of the trees, his face illuminated by light from an open doorway.  Puzzled, Legolas frowned, trying to place him.  "Lord Elrond?  Who is that?  He seems familiar, but I cannot think where I last saw him."

Elrond glanced over his shoulder.  "That is Arahad, from Tarlong.  He came back here the day you arrived, you will recall.  That was how we first realised that Elrohir was – was missing."

"Yes, of course.  And he fell victim to this fever too.  You were able to save him, I see."

Elrond nodded.  "Yes.  But it was not easy.  The illness is very severe.  Elrohir did well to heal as many as he did, though I know he frets more over those who died.  He could have done nothing more."

"Are you talking about me?"  Elrohir appeared silently behind them.

"Yes, I am," Elrond told him.  "You did well at Barlynch, you know that.  I am proud of you."  He looked closely at Elrohir, at the shadows beneath his eyes, at the utter weariness in his carriage, and touched the side of his face gently.  "But you look tired.  You need to rest – you are not invincible!"  

Elrohir nodded exhaustedly.  "I know.  And I will rest, I promise.  Later."  When was it he had last slept, he wondered?  Apart from a few short minutes, the night before he had spent at Elladan's side.  Before that there had been the long ride back to Imladris.  Then he had been wakeful through the long hours of darkness at Marla's house, wondering at Elladan's strange attitude. He _had_ rested while sleeping off the effects of his head injury, but he suspected that his father would not accept that as rest.  It had to have been the night before they left Barlynch, some five nights previously.

"No.  Not later, now," Elrond said forcefully.  "If you have no concerns for your own well-being, think of Elladan.  He should not have to fret over you, should he?"  Ruthlessly, he used the one argument Elrohir would be unable to resist, and combined it with his caress to insinuate a compulsion to sleep.

Elrohir blinked and scowled, well aware he was being manipulated.  "Very well, I give in.  But this is unfair!"  He yawned as Elrond steered him towards the couch, and lay down.  The pillows Arwen had provided felt cool and soft, and he was only dimly aware of a cover being placed over him as he fell deeply asleep.

The afternoon set the pattern for the next few days.  Elladan's strength improved, and he stayed awake for longer and longer periods, as the weakness left by the fever slowly dissipated.  By using the ball Elrohir had provided, the strength, flexibility and feeling in his hand improved markedly, and he was soon able to resume weapons practice.

Legolas and Elladan were sparring on the practice field one day when a messenger arrived.    Elrohir, who had been watching the match – Elladan was winning, but only because Legolas continued to draw back – scanned the message, then broke into a broad grin.  He called across the field.  "El!  Legolas!  Come and read this!"

Legolas glanced up, and Elladan took advantage of his distraction to drive his blade – fortunately blunted – towards his right side.  The dagger in his left hand touched Legolas lightly on his chest, and Elladan gave a shout of triumph.  "First contact!  I win, princeling!  El, did you see?"

Elrohir crossed the field, waving the letter.  "I did indeed.  And you should see this.  Look!  A message from Teague.  Marla has had the child – a boy, strong and healthy.  He says Marla is well, and Dacy is delighted with her new brother.  And the child has been named Bereth."

**The End**


	20. ALERT

Well, no, actually it's not a new chapter – sorry.  But ff.net has lost ALL reviews posted last weekend – so if you were kind enough to review (and several were) I will probably never be able to read it!  If you're a writer, you will know how frustrating it is to have reviews but not be able to see them.

So could I ask you to PLEASE send your review to my e-mail address instead? I'd second the request for any reviews you sent for any story by any writer at that time – no-one seems to have received anything.

Many thanks,

Jay


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